


Castles in the Sky, Castles Made of Sand

by SapphireDragonScales



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/M, POV Multiple, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2185374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireDragonScales/pseuds/SapphireDragonScales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A GoT Modern AU, told primarily from the perspective of four of the female characters: Dany, Sansa, Cersei, and Margaery. Takes place in So. Cal. Same(ish) power games, different time and place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa 1

_**Sansa** _

 

Her mother had always praised her for how ladylike she was, how well-mannered. She said Sansa navigated social situations with poise.

But it was nothing, Sansa reflected, compared to the poise that Margaery Tyrell possessed.

Margaery wasn't always polite or well-mannered, but she was still an expert at ingratiating herself with people. Somehow or another, people always seemed to wind up loving Margaery. Her eyes could have a sharp, mocking look to them, but they could just as easily go all soft and sympathetic, so that even the most cynical person would believe that she genuinely cared about their happiness in life. Her mouth had a decided talent for curling sardonically, but it could also form the most winning of smiles. She seemed to know instinctively just what each person she met most wanted to hear, and was as good a listener as she was a talker, and when she got to talking, she could go a mile a minute. She made friends effortlessly and when Sansa had known her at UCLA, she had been a favorite of many of the teachers, too. She was a master flirt, as well, and drew guys to her like flies to honey. None of her relationships ever lasted very long, but she stayed friendly with all her exes. Maybe it was Margaery's experience with guys that gave her such confidence. Sansa had only ever had one real boyfriend, and her only...experience had been with him.

And it had never been that satisfying, Sansa remembered, cringing. Of course, nearly every remembrance of Joff brought on a cringe. At the very least. Or tears. Or rage. Or nausea.

Even sashaying around in a pair of sweat pants rolled up past her ankles and a baggy, faded old T-shirt, Marg avoided looking at all dowdy or sloppy and somehow maintained an air of casual sophistication.

"Sansa," Margaery grinned, plopping down in the director's chair that was next to the beanbag chair Sansa was currently lounging in. She leaned forward and grabbed Sansa's hand with the warm urgency that was so characteristic of her. "I'm going to kidnap you. I'm going to bring you to my grandma's house, and keep you there for at least a good, long week, and all we're going to do is hang around in our pajamas, drink chardonnay, and watch trash T.V." Margaery was currently holding a glass of chardonnay, and she swirled it around with a cheerful though careful, flourish, then held it aloft, like she was ready for Sansa to toast to her plans. "What do you think?" She raised one of her always-expressive eyebrows expectantly.

Sansa sipped at her own glass of the wine her friend had brought over. Lowering it, she smiled over the rim at the brunette young woman opposite her.

"Marg..." she began, a hint of chastisement in her voice even as she looked apologetically at her companion. "You know-"

"Don't you dare say no to me!" Margaery cut her off with faux sternness. Her nose crinkled playfully, but in her eyes was a flash of exasperation. "C'mon! I barely get to see you anymore! Why won't you come and stay with me for a while?"

Sansa shook her head in disbelief, still smiling, though it was a bit forced. Margaery Tyrell did things like serve at the soup kitchen and organize charity toy drives, but that didn't mean that at times she wasn't seriously self-centered. Sansa was used to this, but still, she was tired of having arguments, however civil, like the one she knew was brewing.

"Well...because of school, for one...and work for another..." she drawled, voice tinged with sarcasm. "It's just going to make getting to my classes really, really difficult if I'm staying with you at your grandmother's. Even if I had my car...which, you know, I don't anymore..." Speaking about her recent transportation difficulties brought on a definite ache. Not physical. Save a pale, jagged scar seven inches long on the back of her leg, she'd fully recovered physically from the accident that had probably been meant to permanently maim her...or worse. She swallowed. No, it was an emotional ache. She had been attached to her car, an eighteenth birthday present from her parents; however, missing that car wasn't what wounded her, either. No. What had caused her trauma was that act, that act of malice by the guy who'd said he loved her, an act of malice greater than even he had ever inflicted on her before. Long before the accident, she'd accepted that Joff didn't love her. But she never imagined he hated her as much as all that.

The pang she experienced when talking about the car also had something to do with the people who had given it to her being dead. Whenever she thought about how her good, warm, sensible mother and reliable, kind, reliable father were no longer with her, she got an empty feeling inside of her chest.

Margaery sat as though waiting for something. Margaery, who believed that Joffrey had changed. Was changing. Whatever. She'd said she never believed that Joffrey truly meant to hurt Sansa, that night he was chasing her in his Escalade. Margaery had been spending a lot of time with Joffrey. They were friends now. And Sansa didn't care, or at least she kept telling herself that she didn't, as long as Marg never, ever brought Joffrey around her.

Margaery drummed her OPI Bubble Bath-painted fingernails against her glass while watching Sansa's face expectantly.

Sansa played dumb, raising her eyebrows like she didn't know what Margaery was after. Like to her, Sansa, the subject was already closed.

"It would be so cool if you went to the party me and my grandmother are having this Sunday. Stay for a long weekend, at least."

Sansa pursed her lips. She hated refusing people. And she especially hated it when she had to summon all her courage to refuse somebody the simplest thing. She should have more courage, she knew- she was like a foolish, tremulous little bird. But she'd always been a people pleaser, and after everything that had happened, in the face of opposition now, it so often felt like whatever little fight she had ever had in her naturally was gone. She muttered only one word.

"Sorry."

"Okay," Marg sighed in exasperation, getting back up and beginning to pace the room. "I've got energy to burn tonight. You know how I have insomnia sometimes, right? You remember that from when we lived together?" She broke into a wide grin as she turned toward her friend. "How we used to go driving at night to kill the boredom and hit up the fast food drive-thru's while listening to bad old pop music?" When Sansa had lived with Margaery, it had been like living with a whirling dervish. However, Sansa had been much happier back then, and she hadn't much minded, though she'd never been as bold as her life-of-the-party friend. Those were the good old days, all the way around.

"Sure," Sansa replied. "Good times. Of course, I guess we were kind of acting like dorks." She chuckled. "You don't think we're still that dorky, do you?" she joked.

"So you remember how I am? When I just need to get out?" Margaery continued, ignoring her question, a cheerfully needling tone in her voice, her eyes bright with a new scheme. "Let's go dancing! At a club! Will you go to a club with me? Sansa, I know just the one- I went there for the first time a few weeks ago. It's called The Maidenvault-"

"The Maidenvault?" Sansa had to interrupt, but she felt her back stiffen, even as she sat in a beanbag chair. Marg's suggestion provoked an immediate negative reaction in her. She hated clubs, always had, and the thought alone of going out to one tonight had her exhausted already. "Sexy," she kidded weakly.

Marg grinned. "And it's awesome," she went on. "Not too uptight or pretentious, you know, but not, like, a dive, either. It's just about people having a great time."

"Sounds great," Sansa lied. "But...I think that'll have to wait to some other time, Marg, I...I'm really too tired for that, I think."

"Seriously? Why are you tired? You didn't even have any classes today, and you didn't work."

Sansa's heart sank. She felt like she'd already given in, and that disappointed her. This new idea of Margaery's wasn't her idea of a good time, and Marg should know that. How many times had Sansa wanted to go clubbing with her even way in the past when everything was good? And on the occasions when she hadn't been able to credibly say that she had a prior engagement or when she'd just been feeling so optimistic that anything, even clubbing, sounded like it could potentially be fun, she'd gone and done a seriously sub-par job of imitating her group's ecstatic antics. That couldn't have gone unnoticed.

As Sansa dithered, Margaery whined, "Come ooooon," in a way that should have made her sound about five years old, but somehow didn't.

"Margaery, I don't- I don't know...I wasn't planning on going out tonight. Maybe I don't have any right to feel tired, but I'm just- I'm just feeling kind of," she made a useless, confused kind of gesture, cupped palms raised upward as she waved her arms weakly back and forth before shrugging and then crossing them over her stomach, "low key."

"What if we can get Loras to come out with us?"

_What if you can get Loras to come out?_ Sansa almost returned, but she bit her tongue. She didn't understand why Marg would used Loras as bait to get Sansa to go out, though. It almost felt like she was still rubbing that in. So she used to have a massive crush on Marg's older brother. That was a hundred years ago. Sansa scowled and picked at a cuticle. A hundred years ago since, after she'd hinted to Margaery that she'd like to know if Loras was interested in dating her, Marg had laughed at her for not knowing that Loras was gay. Was Margaery still laughing at that old gag? So apparently Loras was only out to a few people, but it was supposed to be so obvious that basically everyone knew, anyway. Sansa didn't think it was that obvious. Loras was always flirting with girls. Besides, he was probably pretty much the best-looking guy on the planet (and a moderately-famous male model), so who could blame her for at least asking?

"Loras is fun," Sansa said lightly, successfully, she thought, disguising her annoyance. "But, really, Marg, I just don't wanna go out, no matter who with."

"But Sansa," Margaery collapsed dramatically at her feet and grabbed her hand, gazing up at her with wide, beseeching amber eyes. "Sansa...I've been wanting a fun night out with you again for such a long time! I was so happy when I found out you were moving back here and getting your own place. But these past six months...Sansa, it's like you've just been hiding yourself away in here..."

"I haven't been hiding myself away!" Sansa objected, a trace of real indignation entering her tone. She pulled her hand away from Margaery's and curled her fingers in against her knee. "I'm not a...a _shut-in_ , Margaery. I go to school, I go to work, I...I go out and buy groceries, I don't have them delivered-"

Her friend was smiling at her sadly. "You've been through a lot. So much. I told you this right after everything happened. I can't imagine what it's been like for you, and how much you've suffered. My heart breaks for you."

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut. She'd heard countless words of sympathy since her parents and Robb had died. She could deal with them fine if they were said in passing. She could deal with them fine if they were said out in public. She'd been taught well never to make an emotional scene in public. But here was Margaery, looking her dead in the eye like this, all deliberateness and compassion, cornering her in her own home. With a great deal of effort, Sansa held back the tears, and opened her eyes.

"I know there's a limit to how much I," Margaery put a hand on her heart earnestly, "can help. But won't you at least let me try? Please don't shut me out, Sansa. I'm your friend, and I love you. Let's not lose the sense of fun in our friendship. Neither one of use deserves that."

And before Sansa knew what she was doing, she was waving the white flag. "Yeah, okay, Marg, alright, I'll go..."

Margaery interrupted with a happy squeal. She sprang to her feet and patted Sansa on the knee as if to say, 'that's my girl!'

"Now, if I'm not mistaken, you still have some of my clothes." Margaery shot Sansa a joking look over her shoulder as she sauntered over to Sansa's closet and threw it open without invitation. "Haven't been wearing any of them, have you?"

Sansa bristled slightly. She gave an awkward chuckle, turning her back toward Margaery, ostensibly to collect the glasses and wine bottle and take them to the kitchen, but really so Margaery didn't see her slight grimace. Was Marg mocking her? Treating her like a lame, prudish younger sister again? Someone who would never in a million years wear revealing, hyper body-conscious outfits like Marg and deserved disdain because of that? She stuck the wine in the fridge and the glasses in the sink and told herself that Margaery was only gently poking fun. Margaery respected her...her sartorial choices, surely. She walked back around the bar and into the living room portion of her home, which with the little apartment's open floor plan, provided a full view into the tiny bedroom. She collapsed back into her beanbag chair and watched Marg try to pick out an outfit.

"Ooo, I've missed this one. I've only worn it once." She turned to show Sansa the dress, a bright white, body-hugging knee-length dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a plunging neckline, festooned with a fleur-de-lis pattern on the front in gold embroidery.

"It's very pretty, Margaery," Sansa complimented, trying to work herself up into a going-out spirit. She was coming up short, but at least she sounded chipper. "That's the one you wore to your grandmother's birthday, right?"

"That's right!" Marg exclaimed, dimpling happily at Sansa's good memory. Sansa smiled, too. She knew how much Margaery loved the salty, somewhat frightening woman who was her grandmother, Olenna Tyrell. It was probably one of her best traits.

Margaery ended up selecting that dress, and then gained Sansa's easily given permission to use some of her makeup. After she wandered into the studio apartment's bathroom, Sansa forced herself up out of her chair and pulled the elastics securing the braids on either side of her head free from her hair. She shook her head, out of exasperation as much as to shake her newly-loose red locks around. Why exactly was she going along with this? Well, because Marg was her friend and she wanted her to be happy and get to do things she liked and also because there was only a certain extent to which she could afford to displease Margaery. She didn't exactly have a ton of friends left, not after what happened with her family. The way they were slandered.

_And then led to the slaughter._

Sansa went to her closet and spent but a few minutes surveying its contents before she made her choice. She only had a few outfits, anymore, that would be suitable for a club. She picked out a tank dress with a gray bodice and a black flared skirt. She'd wear her purple heels for a pop of color, she decided, and changed out of her Mossimo for Target shorts and T-shirt. She also grabbed a necklace- made of three fine, delicate sterling silver strands that looked like wire, twisting around each other with little twinkling amethysts housed between them- and put it on. It was one of the dozen pieces of jewelry Margaery had given her free of charge. Her purse was sitting on the ground by the bar separating the kitchen and living area, and she walked over to retrieve it, taking from the inside a couple of lip products, her compact, and her brush. She carefully passed the brush through her hair, and then tried to fluff it up around the crown, but to no avail. The length of her hair was wavy now, but it was hopelessly flat on top. She sighed, and did her best to resign herself to this look. She applied some Nars The Multiple tint in Orgasm (she remembered how she'd giggled when she'd bought her Orgasm blush at fourteen) to her lips and cheeks, then topped her lips with clear gloss. Walking over to the full-length mirror, she gave herself a once-over and felt her appearance to be wanting. Sansa was "statuesque", that was a word she'd gotten a lot in her life, and pretty, but tonight her hair was flat and she looked even more dumb and diffident than usual.

Margaery came out of the bathroom and feigned a noise of disgust.

"You're, like, so beautiful, Sansa. I'm dying. Every guy at the club will be checking you out."

Sansa rolled her eyes as she smoothed her skirt. As if Margaery would view her as competition of any kind. Margaery nudged Sansa's purple velvet pump with her own strappy gold stiletto.

"Always purple," she teased her friend.

"Of course," Sansa said simply with a grin. Purple was her favorite color.

~*~

Despite being an enormous flirt, twenty whole minutes had passed and Marg had been true to her promise, not abandoning Sansa to dance with any of the guys who had asked her (or to go in the back room or outside with any of the guys who had asked her) since they arrived at The Maidenvault. Oh, Sansa had been asked to dance plenty, too, but she'd turned all her would-be partners down. Recently she sometimes felt that, had she not been raised with brothers and had a fantastic father, she would be completely scared of guys now. As it was, she was only weary of them. It was like she'd said to Margaery- she didn't want to be out there tonight, to mingle and be social. She didn't really want the pressure of having to act...like a partier.

Having ruled out dancing and flirting, they by turns danced goofily with each other and just stood bobbing their heads along to the music and sipping their drinks in the middle of the enthusiastic and trendy throng.

Marg probably could have gotten them into the VIP section, but she didn't venture up the small flight of stairs leading to the exclusive upper alcove, sectioned off by a velvet rope and outfitted with thick, plush dark curtains that the VIP's could keep closed or open at will. She rarely went for things like that, preferring instead to be among her adoring public. Okay, so it wasn't even like most people even recognized her, but still, Marg had that air about her: it was like she was "the people's queen" or something. It was nice, Sansa supposed, that Margaery wasn't...what was that word her poli-sci major half-brother was always throwing around?...elitist, but just sometimes, Sansa sort of wished Margaery would take more advantage of the perks she was given, so Sansa could enjoy the spill over.

Tonight, though, jewelry designer extraodinaire Margaery Tyrell did keep sneaking looks up at the second level of the club. Sansa knew that she was trying to be secretive because she ducked her head after every time she did it. Who could be up there? And moreover, how could Margaery even tell who was up there, even though the curtain was currently parted? Under the strobe lights, Sansa's eyes were starting to burn, and she could barely see a foot in front of her face.

She didn't ask Marg who she was looking for, though, because she was too caught up in feeling strangely paranoid- not just cautious like a girl needed to be in a place like this, but like any one of these people might be concealing some hidden weapon, metaphorical bows and arrows to bring down her silly little bird self. She tried her best to hide her bizarre thoughts behind her silly dancing and jerky head bobs and not completely authentic laughter. She kept reminding herself that none of these people gave a damn about her, one way or the other.

That was a terrifying thought, too.

"Sansa, I'll be right back, okay?"

Sansa's head swiveled around so rapidly she was surprised she didn't give herself whiplash. But Margaery moved fast, too. Sansa turned toward her friend just in time to see the back of her vanishing. She was moving quickly, so quickly through the crowd. Sansa opened her mouth to object, and she reached out to grab onto her, but Margaery was gone, disappeared before any words could be uttered or Sansa could so much as graze the brunette's sleeve with a fingertip.

Sansa's jaw clenched and she stomped her foot. Damn it, why the hell would Margaery do that? Why would she have to just get away from her like that? She'd promised to stay close, at Sansa's request. Had Margaery not thought she was serious? She felt the pinpricks of anxiety start to occur. Her brain focused on the thumbing bass as the inertia of the club. It was pounding, pounding away far too fast, and it was so commanding that her heart felt compelled to race in order to match its rhythm.

A group of four of five people was headed her way, laughing and talking loudly, all carrying drinks and playfully shoving and grappling at each other as they walked. There was little wiggle room for them to make it around Sansa, and as she, wide-eyed, watched them approach, she thought they might simply barrel into her and flatten her. She lurched backward just in time, and hit somebody else instead of having them hit her. The people behind her seemed to dislike people knocking into them, too, and backed up right away. Unfortunately, they had been kind of holding her up, and as they moved, she stumbled, and nearly fell on her behind, but for her wildly flailing her arms like a windmill and desperately pitching herself forward. She didn't realize that she was strangely winded until it came out of her in a little whoosh when she righted herself. As the group of roughhousers passed her by, holding their drinks aloft, a couple small splashes of something brown and sour landed on her shoe and on the back of her hand, directly atop the weird, seven-pointed star she'd gotten stamped on her hand when she entered.

She seemed to be the only person standing alone and realized suddenly that she couldn't stay put; she would have to move. This was somewhat easier said than done as her legs were currently shaking, but she had to look for Margaery, or at least find a wall so she could stay mostly out of harm's reach and grope her way around the perimeter of the room to find an exit. She had never felt so claustrophobic in her life. She had a knot in her stomach the size of this great state of California.

She started walking and nearly collided with two people basically humping on the dance floor, the woman with a leg on either side of one of the gyrating man's slightly spread and bent legs. Her back arched dramatically, her hips jerked forward. She was wearing a triangle bikini top under a blazer and...and she actually had her nipple out of one of those triangles right now. And it was in the mouth of her male companion. Sansa hadn't lived a completely sheltered existence. She'd gone to college- twice. Yet she couldn't help but feel scandalized at the display in front of her, and despite herself, found her feet glued to the floor for just a few seconds too long, her mouth slightly agape. The woman must have felt a stare on the point of suction, for she turned her head in Sansa's direction. This was Sansa's cue to take off, but she could hear bikini top chick call out after her,

"Take a picture, it'll last longer!" And then Sansa couldn't tell if the woman yelled, "Prude bitch!" or "Rude bitch!"

Her only option was to keep moving, just keep on moving or get trampled, so that was what she did.

All of a sudden, she heard her friend's high, full laughter, and she quickened her pace forward. She spotted who she was looking for, clamping a hand onto that young woman's shoulder.

"Marg!" she exclaimed, and Margaery turned, the color high her cheeks, a wide smile of amusement upon her face. She had clearly been in the midst of a very entertaining conversation, though, as Sansa happened to look quickly past her, she saw no one facing in their direction.

"Sansa, heeeey!" Margaery sang out cheerfully, seizing her forearm and pulling her closer. "Sansa, say hi to-"

Sansa's words were already charging past Margaery's though, such was Sansa's agitation. "Margaery, what the hell?! You said you wouldn't do that...I was getting lost in here..." To her mortification, she could feel tears starting to well up. She held them back, and changed the subject, as it belatedly registered that Marg had been beginning to introduce her to someone.

"Wha- who...who did you want me to meet?" she babbled sheepishly.

Margaery stepped to the side, moving the hand that was latched onto Sansa's arm and putting it around her shoulders. Sansa looked at Margaery's face and saw that Margaery was looking down...

At a little person. A man, whose age was hard to judge. Sansa took in the poorly-balanced face; the bulbous, sloping forehead over two mismatched, overly keen eyes; the crooked nose; the golden hair that curled thickly around it like a little lion's mane. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew who this person was. Well, she couldn't recall the name, but Joff...he was related to Joffrey...

"It's Joff's uncle, Sansa."

"Well, there goes making a positive first impression," said the little man dryly, a smile tugging at the corner of one lip.

"Tyrion," Sansa blurted out the name as it came to mind, then blushed. She had never met Tyrion Lannister before, but she'd heard of him, from many sources.

"Tyrion," agreed Margaery, grinning back and forth between the two of them.

He waddled closer to Sansa and held out a stunted arm. Sansa shook the pudgy little hand a the end of it. His eyes were studying her face.

"A pleasure, Miss Stark." His voice was low and solemnly, overly sincere, and it made her uncomfortable. (As, indeed, did everything about him, but she was trying hard to pretend that wasn't true, embarrassed of her ungracious feelings.) She was afraid he was mocking her, somehow. He had such a reputation for being irreverent, and the way he had switched gears so fast- laughing and probably being the consummate witty partygoer only a minute ago- seemed to confirm the general idea people seemed to have of him always being ready to size others up...with sardonic results.

"An overdue pleasure," he went on, releasing her hand with the briefest of squeezes. "I always assumed I would meet you before now, and then I thought I might not meet you at all." He looked back over to Marg. "But maybe that was a foolish thought, since it's well known that you run around with this one, here." He gave a playful tug to the skirt of Margaery's dress, smirking up at her. She gave a little squeal and batted his hand away.

"Oh, stop that, you!"

"Well, i-it's nice to meet you at last," offered Sansa awkwardly, trying to smile. Oh, how she wanted to leave. The knot in her stomach pulled tighter. She hugged herself around her middle, as though that would make the sensation go away, while she drummed her fingers against her hips in time to the music, trying to pass off the gesture as a casual one. She started looking all around her, which she hoped came off as her wanting to drink in the atmosphere because she being really into being there and not just her eyes anxiously darting around because it felt inadvisable to let them rest on anything. She didn't want to attract anyone's attention. Probably least of all, any more from the man standing across from her. And she got sick of always looking to Margaery for approval, always looking at her to take the lead.

"That's kind of you to say," said Tyrion in an even voice after a long pause, calling her attention back to him. She couldn't think of a thing to say back, so she simply smiled tersely.

"Your lovely girlfriend isn't here tonight?" Margaery asked convivially.

Tyrion hesitated.

"I wasn't aware you knew Shae," the man said in a light, lilting tone, though he drew out the sentence as if requesting an explanation.

"Oh," Marg shrugged nonchalantly. "No, I don't, really." She smiled at him. "More like know of her. I'd really like to meet her someday."

Sansa remained silent. She had no idea who this Shae was, besides Tyrion Lannister's girlfriend, apparently. This was the first she'd heard of her. Of course, Margaery had an extremely active social life, and she didn't know everyone Marg knew, or wanted to know.

"She preferred a quiet night at home tonight. I needed to go let off some steam, though," Tyrion disclosed in a languid sort of voice. He was looking all around himself, taking in his surroundings with a much more blase attitude than Sansa could have had, although there might have been something oddly like disapproval in Tyrion's eyes, too. "It's been a rough week at the office."

"I'm sorry to hear that," declared Margaery. She began to sway her hips to the music, though not precisely in time to it, because the manic beat of the song currently playing defied any human hips to keep pace with it. She grinned over at Sansa and gave her a side hug, then kept her arm encircling her waist, playfully bumping hips with her. Sansa, for her part, stood still. "I would have thought you'd at least have your girl to keep you company. I hear she's quite into the nightlife scene."

Tyrion's head slowly rotated back around until he was looking at Margaery again, and there was a chilly wariness in his gaze.

"Now where would you have heard that? I must say, it gets awfully tedious to keep running into implicative remarks from uninformed people who mistakenly believe they know anything about my girlfriend at all."

Margaery unwound her arm from about Sansa's waist and stopped the rhythm-less shaking of her hips. She had a look of concern on her face.

"I'm...sorry, did I say something wrong? I've never heard anyone say anything...insulting about Shae, and I definitely wouldn't attempt to insult her myself."

Tyrion considered the contrite, sweet-faced brunette and continued to look stubborn for a few more moments, and after that, his mouth split into an unreadable smile and he was apparently appeased. Sansa looked to her friend for answers.

But Margaery was looking down quizzically at the wristlet bag she was holding against her thigh. When Sansa strained her ears, she thought she could discern the faintest of buzzing sound. Margaery held up a finger and looked into middle space as she pursed her lips. She placed a hand over her little clutch and said to both her companions,

"H-hang on a second. I need...I need to check something out."

She smiled at them and then promptly ducked through an opening in the crowd, weaving her way through the myriad of bumping, grinding, and drinking people as Sansa's eyes managed, through sheer force of determination, to keep track of her. She seemed to be heading for the wall closest to them, which people were actually giving a bit of a berth, all things considered. Sansa couldn't say she was too happy with Marg leaving her again, and leaving her alone with a Lannister, to boot. However, some of her anxiety had actually abated. She disliked Tyrion on principal, but for some reason, his mere presence wasn't making her feel quite as victimized as she would have expected. Maybe she'd gotten further past her fear than she knew.

"Where's she going now?" Sansa wondered aloud, her eyes tracing Margaery's progress to the wall. She stared at the rose on the brunette's bag and let out an unladylike snort of laughter. Who would have ever thought that Margaery Tyrell would be a wallflower? Her own private joke was a little lame, but she didn't care. She watched Marg hurriedly take her phone out of her purse, poke at the screen, stare at it for a minute while worrying her lip, then tap something quickly into the screen. She then slipped the phone back into her bag and started back toward them.

Something wasn't right. Suddenly Margaery was walking a bit like Bambi, even though Sansa hadn't seen her drink very much that night. She'd had half a glass of chardonnay back at Sansa's apartment, and then had taken a few sips of some kind of thick, pink, tropical mystery drink she'd bought here at The Maidenvault.

Still, when she had rejoined Sansa and Tyrion, Margaery insisted, "I think I need to go home." She pulled a sad face, as though she were disappointing one or both of them. "Suddenly I just feel waaay overheated." She wiped the back of her hand over forehead and slouched. "And I'm, ya know, a little drunk," she finished, giggling.

Sansa furrowed her brow in confusion. What? Drunk? Since when? Quite involuntarily, she looked at Tyrion, and from the skeptical look on his face, she knew he was thinking exactly the same thing. Still, the little man seemed to think that he'd been called upon to do something chivalrous. He gave an ornate bow, flourishing his arm out before him.

"Allow me to escort you ladies outside."

This was quite unnecessary; neither of them was helpless. Even if Margaery was in fact overheated and drunk, she was standing under her own power, and in the past when she could barely do that, Sansa had still managed to lead her out of clubs. Was he thinking for some reason that they needed him to wait with them for safety? Margaery's limo would be around in a minute, and besides...She swept her gaze over his unimpressive stature and thought about how unlikely it was to make a girl feel protected.

They filed through the crowds and to the main entrance, Tyrion out in front and Margaery right behind him, holding onto Sansa's hand as she brought up the rear so they didn't get separated. As they walked, occasionally having to jostle their way past the crush of revelers (Sansa squashing down the irrational but strong instinct to apologize to every one of them even though they wouldn't hear her or likely care), Marg spoke loudly to Tyrion, saying,

"I'm surprised you took on the role of leading us out of here. You don't have the best view to act as a guide."

Sansa gasped, and was thankful that the sound was barely audible even to her. Marg's comment made her uneasy; it seemed like it should be offensive, although she couldn't put her finger on why.

To her further astonishment, Tyrion only laughed. Heartily.

"But I'm sure it won't surprise you to learn that I know this place like the back of may hand, as I've been here many, many times."

Margaery giggled, and so, out of nervousness, did Sansa.

Outside, there was still a line of people waiting to get in, and from the pool of light cast by the neon sign blazing the name of the club from above the door, Sansa read the time on her Citizen watch. It was a quarter to one.

Margaery went over by the curb and whipped out her cell to tell her driver they were ready, and Tyrion turned to Sansa.

"Your friend seems..." He struggled. "Well, she seems.." He cast his eyes upward, as if perhaps trying in vain to read his own forehead, as though the answer to what he thought of Margaery Tyrell was was written there. "I know...she cares about those less fortunate. And she seems to care about you a great deal, too." He smiled at her...kindly, Sansa supposed, but it was such an ugly grin. Why didn't a man as rich as Tyrion Lannister get veneers?

Not to mention, just being near a Lannister again was making her skin crawl. It was like she'd literally become allergic to them.

Nonetheless, Tyrion's words prompted a candid response from Sansa, uttered quite automatically and without intention.

_Those less fortunate...and you._

"Is there a difference?" she asked with a snort. And then her mouth promptly fell open in a little 'O' of surprise as she instantly regretted her words. What was she doing, fishing for pity? And from a Lannister? What if he told that to Joffrey, or Cersei? She had no desire to make them happy or to show herself to be weak. Well, even weaker than they already thought she was, anyway.

"I don't know..." said Tyrion, watching her carefully. Too carefully. Sansa shifted on the balls of her feet uncomfortably.

At just that moment, Margaery reappeared, flinging her arm around Sansa's shoulder and leaning against it as if perhaps she did need the support. "The car's being brought around," she said too loudly into Sansa's ear, her weight just a little too heavy against her shoulder, before she attempted to straighten up, wobbling on her heels a bit before entirely managing the task. She toddled back over to the curb and stood there, craning her neck for the sight of the limo.

Sansa literally twiddled her thumbs while she stood next to Joffrey's uncle and awkwardly waited for her ride to drive around the corner. She wanted to go stand beside Marg, but there Tyrion was, right next to her, behaving like he was yet a part of this- whatever this was- and Sansa was, despite the number of times she'd told herself she wasn't going to be a little girl anymore, incapable of offending anyone. She couldn't think of a way to excuse herself without being rude. And so, just like inside the club, she stared all around, letting her gaze flit from one thing to the next. When she happened to glance over at Tyrion, she found him gazing out into the night, looking contemplative, his hands resting on his hips and twitching.

The car pulled up, and Margaery signaled to the driver that he could stay in the car, and she opened the door for herself. Just as Sansa was about to walk forward, Tyrion cleared his throat, and she looked down at him. He was fixing her with an earnest, searching look, and he spoke in a voice so low that she had to bend down to hear him.

"She's far too good for Joffrey. Just like you were. She seems like a smart girl, but you'll tell her to be careful, won't you? You'll look out for her?"

"I...I..." Sansa stuttered, taken aback, and with not much time to come up with a response, as Margaery darted back with an outstretched hand, wrapping it around Sansa's wrist and tugging. "I hope I always do my best for my friends," she found herself saying. Marg threw her a curious look over her shoulder.

Tyrion gave her stiff nod as if that was quite good enough for him.

"Good," he said. He walked behind them to the limo, then after first Margaery, then Sansa, had climbed in, patted the open car door and lifted his hand to his forehead in a salute. "Enjoy the rest of your night, ladies. I'm going back in. I'm not nearly drunk enough yet." He closed the door and Sansa watched as he waddled back toward the entrance to the club.

Marg snagged a bottle of seltzer from the limo's fridge and then fell back into her corner with a tired, yet happy enough sounding sigh.

"What was that about?" The brunette asked, rolling her head against the back of the seat until she was facing Sansa. A curly tendril of her chestnut hair was stuck to her chin, near her mouth, and she reached up and flicked it away impatiently.

Sansa slowly shook her head, not sure of that herself.

"Nothing," she answered as Margaery took the seltzer bottle and put it down her dress, within her cleavage. "He just told me to take care."

"I heard something about your friends," Margaery insisted, starting to fan herself even as the air kicked on and Sansa felt goose pimples prickle her arms. For some reason Margaery was really sticking to this story about being overheated when she must know that Sansa had seen right through that one. Like, she couldn't really think Sansa was that stupid. ...Could she?

"I..." Sansa hesitated but briefly, it taking only a moment to think of a believable little falsehood. That was one of 'ladylike' skills she'd mastered, after all: telling a palatable lie. "He said to look after you and Joffrey." For added credibility, she gave her hair a haughty flip. "He said he could tell I was more responsible than the two of you put together." She shot her friend a teasing smile.

Margaery looked at her for several long moments, her eyes squinted doubtfully. Then she giggled and flopped back in her seat once more. She took the seltzer out from between her boobs and sat it in a cup holder, then tilted her head back and closed her eyes. The car started to move.

"Where to, ladies?" asked the driver, rolling the partition down.

There was a pause. Sansa laid her head back and closed her eyes, too. She'd had nothing to do all day, and she'd liked it that way. But it had made her tired, the way staying in one place all day and being kind of numb can make a person tired. And then Margaery had turned up and dragged her out here, and the simultaneous stress and boredom of that had left her further drained.

She was so tired that when Margaery gave their destination as Olenna Tyrell's house in Pasadena, Sansa gave no objection.

_To be continued..._


	2. Dany 1

_**Dany** _

 

She ought to put on sunscreen.

She was being careless, but she wanted to get tan. She was used to getting spray-on tans, but somehow, since moving here, it hadn't crossed her mind to make an appointment. It had been more than a month since her last appointment in Nevada. There was the same preference for tan here in California, too, maybe more so. Dany looked down at one of her bare arms, where it rested on the railing of the balcony. She stroked up and down the limb from her elbow to her shoulder with the back of her fingers, and gave a little shiver despite the heat of the day. Well, "heat" as they all said. The weather report said that it was 102 degrees, taking into account the humidity, but Dany didn't feel overly warm. She gazed down over the railing into the pool which gutted the ground maybe thirty feet below her, and saw the tiniest of bikini-clad Danys reflected in crystalline waters. She sighed and stretched her arms overhead, bored. She really should go in for that sunscreen.

She turned and walked over to the French doors beyond which lay her room. Just as soon as her feet touched the plush, sandstone-colored carpet, she saw Irri coming through the door at the opposite end of the spacious room, directly across from her. The other young woman smiled at Dany respectfully, arms around a stack of fresh towels for Dany's private bathroom.

"Hi, Khaleesi." Irri greeted her, continuing on her way to the entrance to the master bath. "Are you all done sunbathing?"

Dany padded over to follow her assistant into the bathroom. "I forgot the sunscreen."

Irri gave a gently chastising smile over her shoulder. "You must not forget the sunscreen. It is known. You will burn, or maybe get skin cancer."

Dany couldn't help but giggle. "I'm getting sunscreen to prevent the skin cancer part. But you don't need to worry about me burning. I never burn." She leaned against the pink marble, pedestal sink and met Irri's dubious gaze with a look of fond exasperation as she belatedly realized something.

"Irri, what are you doing with those towels?" she queried as that young woman opened the door to the large wicker linen cabinet, about to lay the towels inside. There were many of them, however; so many that she struggled to move them without the whole pile toppling, and Dany put forth a hand and steadied the stack. "Why are you putting them in here?"

Irri looked quizzical. "Where else should your towels go, Khaleesi?"

Dany laughed. "Well, in here! But what I mean is, why are you moving them? I know I left them downstairs in the shopping bags for too long, but that doesn't mean I want you to put them away! That's my responsibility. This does not fall underneath your job description." She took the towels from Irri and almost dropped them in the process, but swiftly crouched down slightly and bent her knees to hold them up as her arms clasped harder around the fluffy, teetering stack. Once she was sure she had them, she looked back up to Irri with a victorious gleam in her eye.

"Aha! See, I can handle it! The Khaleesi can handle anything."

Irri smiled back. "So I can see."

Dany put the towels away with minimal struggle to get them up onto their shelf and shut the door to the cabinet. It was then that she and Irri were joined by Dany's other assistant, Jhiqui.

"Khaleesi," she said. "You have a visitor."

Daenerys raised her brows. She thought she knew who it probably was, since she knew only one person in the whole state.

"Is it Mr. Selmy?"

"Yes, it is."

Dany nodded. "Okay. Please tell him that I will be with him shortly." She gestured at the swimsuit she was wearing. "I'm just going to change my clothes."

Jhiqui departed to pass on the message, and Irri likewise walked out through the bedroom and disappeared somewhere down the hallway as Dany sought her wardrobe for something more presentable to throw on.

After she was dressed, she went down the spiral staircase and peered across the entrance hall. There was a man waiting at the far end, on the bench by the door.

"Mr. Selmy!" she exclaimed, and strode forward to meet him. "What brings you here?"

Barristan Selmy was her uncle. Well, technically, he had been her cousin's second cousin, so her third. Still, as he was in his mid sixties, it seemed more suitable to consider him her uncle, which was an arrangement Mr. Selmy himself had suggested. This would also be an easy thing to do, Dany imagined, since he seemed determined to exert a protective role toward her. To him she owed a great deal, as it was he, a lawyer, who had managed the settling of her parents' estate on her, and who had helped her move back to California a couple weeks ago.

"I was just wondering how you've been," said Mr. Selmy, in that stately yet friendly way he had, his eyes twinkling at her warmly. "We haven't spoken for a few days. I know, of course, that you've probably been busy, but since I was going into L.A., I thought perhaps I'd stop by and see if you wanted to go there for anything. I know your transportation is a little uncertain right now, and I thought you might like some company, too."

"Your company? Always." Dany thought about his offer. "Well, I've been meaning to go out and buy a new wardrobe." She laughed and shrugged. "Well, almost. I didn't bring many clothes at all with me from Henderson, and I'm going to need a ton of new stuff if I'm going to make the scene here properly."

"That's fine," said Mr. Selmy graciously. "I would be happy to take you around to buy a few things."

Daenerys was amused by this. "You always look very dapper, sir, but I wouldn't think that this kind of shopping that would appeal to you. We might go to a store where you'd be able to find another fine tie for your collection, but is there going to be enough to hold your interest while I'm trying on outfit after outfit?"

Mr. Selmy's expression now looked a tad doubtful, but then he shrugged and gave a grudging smile, sticking his hands in his pockets and shifting on the balls of his feet, "Well, maybe I'd rather you didn't keep me at it all day, Miss, but I'm perfectly willing to stop by one or two places and sacrifice a few hours of my day, and that should be enough time for you to find a few good things, shouldn't it? Won't that help?"

"It still might not be the most fun day for you," she warned, grinning, even as she began to look forward to this outing that he'd proposed.

"Nonsense. I'm glad to do it."

Dany allowed the full strength of her smile to show through and admitted that she thought his plan sounded like a very good one.

"Then I am your servant," said Mr. Selmy gallantly.

~*~

Dany stared at her reflection in a full-length floor mirror and smiled at herself. Here she was- this slight, pale woman in cut-off shorts, a flowy peach-colored tank top, and black, studded gladiator sandals, her silvery blond hair hanging loose, two small braids worked into it on either side of her face. She was about five-foot-two, and delicate boned. Not exactly an imposing sight at all. But there was a look of confidence and excitement in her large violet eyes.

Here she was, about to set the town ablaze.

Out of consideration for the kind man she had escorting her on her shopping expedition, she'd decided to keep it to the one store, and so far she'd been there for just under an hour and intended to leave soon. It just so happened that this store had lots of stuff that she liked, and it had been quick work to pick out many different outfits.

A pair of jeans caught her eye, and she checked the rack, but didn't see her size, so she called over one of the sales clerks and asked her to please go check the back room.

While she waited for the associate to come back, her eye was drawn to a young woman who had just entered the shop. Hers was not the only one, either. Several patrons turned to look as a pretty brunette about Dany's own age entered the store, her dainty little high-heel, golden-strapped sandals clacking against the tile at the front of the establishment. Dany glanced over at Mr. Selmy and saw that he was watching the girl, too, although he quickly turned to face Dany.

"Margaery Tyrell," he explained, in unimpressed, if amused tones. "She's becoming a bit of...oh, I guess they call them...'It Girls' or something."

Dany laughed outright. It sounded so bizarre to hear a man like her cousin/uncle say that term. After her moment of mirth was over, however, she cocked her head to the side and tried to inconspicuously study this girl, as her import started to dwell on her. "

The jewelry designer," she recalled, quirking a smile up at Mr. Selmy. "Isn't she? And isn't her father head of some big production company?"

"That would be the one," Mr. Selmy replied with a nod, as Dany ducked her head away when the Tyrell girl turned her head in her direction. She felt a little foolish, as though perhaps she should have been bold enough to let this Margaery Tyrell catch her looking at her. Daenerys Targaryen could look at anyone she wanted. If she happened to glance in someone's direction, they should take it as a compliment, and not at all mistake it for the dragon's daughter making the social faux pas of rudely gawking at a stranger. So she turned back around and looked at her again.

As she caught and held Margaery Tyrell's gaze, the brunette slowly began to smile, and took a step forward. Dany looked away, over toward her companion, her cousin-uncle, and gave a tight-lipped smile of resignation. Mr. Selmy shrugged his shoulders. Soon, the pretty young jewelry-designing 'It Girl' was before her, and Daenerys tried to put herself on her game.

"I'm sorry, I just had to come over and say hello," said Margaery Tyrell with a megawatt smile. "You're the infamous Daenerys Targaryen, aren't you?" She didn't trip over Dany's unusual name like many people did.

"Infamous?" Dany laughed. She looked over her shoulder uncertainly at Mr. Selmy. That word very nearly got her hackles up. She'd known going into this that her arrival in Southern California would start a lot of people talking. She was even counting on it. However, she'd much rather be famous than infamous.

"Of course," replied Margaery breezily. She clasped her hands in front of herself, and rocked back and forth on her heels. "Don't worry, though," she said, quirking a smile at Dany and batting her hand. "You're no one until you're talked about." And she laughed in a way that suggested she wanted Dany to join in.

Dany obliged, although really, she merely chuckled, and then felt her features settle into, if not stern lines, than at least quite serious ones.

"I was born somebody."

Margaery's taken aback expression was on her face for the space of one second, but Dany saw it, right before she saw this rather buoyant-seeing young woman crack another big grin. "Yes, you definitely were."

Her voice became softer, reverent, as she stepped in closer and said, "Your parents and your brother Rhaegar were absolute legends. They've always been such role models for me. I must have read Rhaegar's book twenty times. And not only were they outstanding business leaders: I have it on good authority from so many members of my family that they were just outstanding people, too."

Despite everything, Dany decided that she kind of liked this Margaery Tyrell. The girl was a portrait of contradictions. She was a sycophant without losing any pride, and a speaker of words that could make her seem like a pawn, but with something in her demeanor which said she was totally a player at heart.

A notion appeared to seize the girl; Dany could practically see the light bulb going on in her head. "

I just had the best idea!" Margaery Tyrell announced excitedly. "Daenerys...I'm, well, my grandmother, Olenna Tyrell, and I are having a party tomorrow evening. Nothing major- it's cocktail attire, in the garden, but good company always goes along way, and there's always good company. It would be even better if- well, I know it's really short notice, and you probably already have plans, but we'd be thrilled if you'd come!"

 _Oh, this is a huge get for you, isn't it_ , thought Dany as she looked at Margaery. _If I were to make my debut at your party, oh, just imagine how the talk would swirl around an event of yours like it never has before_.

Of course, there was something in it for Daenerys, too. She had to make an appearance at some sort of event attended by influential people eventually, anyway, and she'd already decided it was better to do so sooner than later. It would probably look more confident to go to a relatively noteworthy event at this point, two weeks into her residency in the Los Angeles Metro Area, than to seem as if she were holing up in her mansion, screwing up her courage.

The sales attendant came back with the distressed Diesel skinny jeans she'd asked for. Dany took them from her and gave her thanks, while Margaery stood there, clearly waiting on pins and needles for a verdict. Dany examined the jeans, smiling not just because she was pleased with the style, but because she was pleased with the turn of events, and enjoying drawing out the other young woman's suspense.

"I'd _love_ to go to your party, Margaery!" she finally announced effusively, laying a friendly hand on the girl's forearm and watching the gleam of triumph appear in her eyes.

"Oh, _good_! I'm so glad!" Margaery placed her hand over Dany's, and the two shared a laugh over nothing. She reached into her purse, extracted her wallet, and from it, a business card. She passed it to Dany. "Call the number on this card and someone will set you up with the address and time."

As Margaery headed off to another part of the store, Mr. Selmy came close and said,

"I think it's only fair to tell you that she's rumored to be going out with a Baratheon."

~*~

Daenerys sat at her vanity in her bedroom, only her butt on the red leather padded stool. Her thighs weren't going to touch it at all, covered as they were in self tanner that she was waiting to dry. She wrinkled her nose slightly at the scent of the concoction. It had that scent that a lot of the popular drugstore sunscreens had, that of chemical-y coconuts, and also a hint of a smell akin to burning rubber. She hoped it would at least create a good-looking tan. The woman at Ulta- which she'd stopped by after Fabriosa's Boutique with Mr. Selmy's blessing- had said that she swore by it.

As Dany sat immobile, she made sure her mind wasn't similarly idle. She kept thinking about how she was going to forge her career here. She knew that she could do it, and yet, she wished she didn't feel like she was quite so alone in embarking upon this adventure. Irri and Jhiqui were great, lovely women who were invaluable help to her and who she looked at as friends, as well. However, she'd been thinking for a while now that she really did need an assistant with more business experience. An executive assistant, someone who could help her as she got her store up and running, and then after, during her quest to re-take Iron Throne Media. Someone prudent, but with an imagination, who she could trust utterly. Someone who would believe in and appreciate her vision and have a talent for managing the more mundane tasks of her daily business life.

She let out a large yawn. Finally, after a few test dabs at her legs with her fingertips confirmed they were dry, Daenerys pattered toward her bed and drew back the duvet and sheets. The hour was late, and she was rather tired. It wasn't long before she was fast asleep.

She was standing in a field of high grass. It was taller than her; there was no seeing over it. It stretched on seemingly endlessly in front of her, and she had the strange feeling the world was drowning in it. It was all brown and yellow, which made it look like it was dying, and yet, it seemed like a very fearsome, threatening thing that would only grow stronger and overpower all. She walked forward, having no real object in mind, only that she wanted to find out if there was anything besides this sea of grass to be seen.

There was. Soon she came to a small clearing. There was a man standing in it, no more than ten feet in front of her. Just standing there as if he were waiting for her.

It was someone she knew well. She mouthed his name in elated disbelief.

She went to him; so quickly she didn't even remember moving. One minute she was standing a dozen feet away from him, and the next she was in his arms. She buried her face against his sturdy, chiseled chest while he stroked her silver hair. There was an odd stillness in the air, but Daenerys pushed that thought aside. Nothing else could matter, now that Drogo had been returned to her.

He released her from their embrace, causing a feeling of disappointment to wash over her. He stood back from her, but took her hand and held it tight. Drogo had never been much for smiling, but one formed on his face now, and it wasn't a joyous smile. Nor was it the malicious smile she'd occasionally seen on his face before when squaring off against an enemy. It was so peculiar. It was a sad smile, and so clearly affectionate. He loved her, she knew that, but he had never looked at her with such thoughtful tenderness before. She had certainly never seen him looking like he was on the brink of tears. What was he so sad about? They were together now; together once more.

Suddenly she heard some kind of squawking noise, and she started looking all around her. She didn't see anything that could possibly be making the noise, but she knew what she expected to see. For some reason, her mind conjured up dragons. But all she could see were those perfectly undisturbed, still plains of brown and yellow grass that seemed to stretch on into infinitity. Up in the milky gray sky, nothing was flying around. When she looked back to where Drogo had been standing across from her, he was no longer there, and she felt panic and grief rise in her chest. How could she have failed to notice he was no longer holding her hand? In incredulity, she stretched both arms out in front of her and felt around the space where he had been. She called out for him. The only answer she received was more squawking from that mysterious invisible source. She was not afraid of the noise, but it made her anxious. And she was afraid that she'd lost Drogo all over again, after having only just rejoined him. "My sun and stars!" she cried out to him. Then she whispered it: "My sun and stars!" And then she finally seemed to hear a voice answer her. Her own words, her own voice, but fainter and raspier, echoing back from the grass, which was beginning to sway from a sudden wind. "My sun and-" she said, as the wind continued to whistle through the grass. She broke off, and then said only, "My son," as she was stirred by the memory of a wise woman telling her that she would have a son. But she wouldn't. Not that son, nor any other. Not any children at all, not of her own body. The squawking sound was growing louder. Everything would be okay if she could find what was making that noise. She suddenly knew that as firmly as she'd ever known anything. She only needed to find the dragons. "My sons!" She shouted. "My sons!" She was turning in circles, looking up at the sky, looking all over for them. The grass responded. " _Mother!_ " it hissed. " _Mother! Mother of dragons!_ " "Where are you?' Dany called out. "Where are you?" She was still spinning, and beginning to feel unwell. She was beginning to lose her grip on reality. She was beginning to think there were no dragons.

_No dragons. They cannot be making this noise._

What else squawked? Birds.

Birds. Outside her window.

"Drogo..." she whispered into her tousled sheets. She felt tears paint her cheeks as she woke.

~*~

"A red dress?" Jhiqui asked, smiling.

Dany ordinarily wore mostly pastels, but tonight, for this party, she'd selected a crimson halter dress. It fell to just above her knees, and hugged her figure without being absolutely skintight, though, with the help of her strapless push-up bra, it did reveal a good bit of cleavage. Speaking of her neckline, it had some black lace detailing around it, and also some more down the center of the dress to her waist, laid over the satin of the dress. It was one of the dresses she'd bought on a whim, while in her brief shopping frenzy at Fabriosa's in downtown L.A. But now that she had it on again, and really took the time to look at herself in the mirror in her new/old bedroom, she realized it was one of her favorite things she'd ever owned. She smoothed her hands down over her skirt and smiled at her reflection.

"Yes," she answered Jhiqui. "Red is my favorite color. You know that. It's why I had this house trimmed in red before we got here, remember?" She grinned broader. "Do you like the dress, Jhiqui? Oh, I think it's fantastic. And very red. The color of fire...and blood..."

"Fire and blood?" asked Jhiqui, eyebrows rising gently.

Dany blushed a little and out of nowhere felt a little flustered. She didn't know why. She had few secrets from her assistants; they knew exactly what she was like, and were used to her spouting off cryptic thoughts in the form of random brainwaves.

Jhiqui let it go at that, but after Dany mulled it for a few seconds, she knew the reason behind her own brief moment of discomfort.

Because then, just then, it was like a feeling of premonition had come over her.

"Oh, I don't know. It's just an intense color, is all." She looked back at her assistant, and broke out in a big smile again. "I feel like I could conquer the world in this dress."

~*~

As the limousine pulled up on the street where the Tyrell domicile was located, however, she felt somewhat less confident. She fidgeted in her seat, brushing her hands over the skirt of her dress over and over again, smoothing it unnecessarily. She felt more socially awkward than she had in some time. It was ridiculous in someone her age, of her parentage, and in someone who had faced many ordeals infinitely more trying than a cocktail party in a garden. However, the fact remained that she hadn't been to a real party in some time. The last group of people she'd been hanging around with had been Drogo's crowd, which kept her busy with gatherings rather unlike this. In a very real way, that lifestyle had kept her pretty isolated. Her brother had been right in a sense- not matter how Viserys had erred in his perception about so much else. Her recent experiences had left her ill-prepared for any different kind of society.

She stared at the gooseflesh breaking out on her legs and sighed. All during the drive, she had wanted to tell the driver to turn down the air conditioning, but her throat seemed to have a bit of a lump in it.

Apparently, Margaery Tyrell lived with her grandmother. A bit of an unusual situation, for an independently wealthy young woman of twenty-four, unless the favored grandmother was infirm. But from everything Dany had heard, Olenna Tyrell was quite the opposite.

The house, a two-story white structure trimmed in green located in Pasadena, was not as large as she'd expected, but very pretty. The driver of the car Selmy had ordered for her was opening her door and handing her out of the vehicle. She thanked him, then he thanked her and soon enough she was standing alone, looking up the driveway at the people visible milling around behind the gate at the side of the house. As far as she could tell, it was a pretty good turn out. Other people arriving at the same time as her were starting to stride up the drive toward the gate. As she followed their course, she heard music coming from the back of the house.

On the side of the residence and wrapping around to the back was a beautiful garden, full of all kinds of lush greenery and exquisite flowers- with roses of all colors predominating- flowing alongside a lawn that was bigger than the house. As she moved around to the back of the place, she encountered a security guard who checked for her name on a list before letting her pass.

Dany looked down at her legs as she walked and thought that although she wasn't as tan as she would've liked, they looked pretty damn good. Though it had turned into a perfect Sunday featuring perfect weather, earlier that day a rare, heavy and energetic rain had fallen, and the grass was still somewhat wet and she was in three inch heels, so she was careful not to slip.

"Mr. Selmy!" she exclaimed, and trotted as quickly as she could across the damp lawn toward where Barristan Selmy stood on a part of a weaving concrete path. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief once her feet were safely on this concrete, and offered up a big smile of relief when she was beside one of the only two people she knew at this party. "Hello."

His eyes crinkled as he smiled back at her and extended his hand. "Good evening, Miss Targaryen." When she slipped her hand into his, he brought it to his lips and kissed it gallantly.

"Daenerys, please," she entreated, feeling like it was about time. After yesterday, the instant liking she'd taken to him when they'd met had only strengthened. He truly was an adorable old man, a real grandfather type. And they were related, after all.

"Then I must be Barristan," her sort-of uncle replied, inclining his head in a formal manner, though still smiling warmly.

Dany wound her arm through his and dimpled up at him. "How are you? Are you having a good time? I confess, I'm...I'm somewhat at sea here." She gave a nervous laugh as they started to stroll down the lane.

Barristan chuckled. "It's been about the same as any party the Tyrell ladies throw. This sort of business isn't exactly my natural habitat; I'm no party animal..."

Dany laughed.

"Not," continued Barristan, "that I harbor any strong dislike for socializing in a party atmosphere, either. But Olenna Tyrell and young Margaery have a penchant for very large guest lists, and this is about as packed as its ever been."

"Where is the hostess? Margaery, I mean," asked Dany, eyes resuming their search for the girl she'd met yesterday. Dany needed to move purposefully, not just wander aimlessly on the outskirts of this party. It seemed logical to find everyone she knew at this thing- even, and especially if, that sum total only amounted to two so far. At least if she found the hostess, she might ask to be introduced to some others. Of course, Barristan might be able to perform some introductions, as well.

"Oh, somewhere in the depths of all of that. Now, who shall we introduce you to?"

No sooner where the words out of Barristan's mouth than he lurched slightly forward as someone jostled his shoulder from behind, and the someone uttered an apology in a deep tone of voice.Dany looked up to see a tall, barrel-chested man with a short, dark beard standing behind Mr. Selmy. Barristan directed a curt nod of acknowledgment at the man.

"Jorah."

The stranger, apparently called Jorah, returned the nod in much the same style. His eyes, though, were on Dany. "Barristan." J

orah showed no inclination to keep on walking, but instead continued to stand near them.

This being the case, Barristan set about making introductions. "Jorah, this is my, er...my niece, Daenerys Targaryen. Daenerys, this is Jorah Mormont."

"Ah," said Dany, offering a polite smile to the man, as well as her hand to shake. Nice to meet you." She trained her smile back on Barristan as she continued to speak to the man called Jorah. "Do you work with Barristan?"

Barristan cleared his throat. "No, he doesn't. Jorah works at Golden and Sons, whose offices are one floor down from mine."

"Nothing so interesting or...fundamentally vital as the law, Miss Targaryen," said Jorah, saying the name like he was trying out the sound of it, the feel of it rolling off his tongue. He gave her a half smile. It softened his face, though just a little, and did not add an expression of joy to it. He had a heavy jaw, and a somber countenance. Somber, yes, and somewhat careworn. But it was a kind smile, and Dany liked it. "I am an insurance agent."

"I'm sure that's full of its own kind of adventures," stated Dany, though she'd never given the job any thought before.

Jorah Mormont smiled tersely and raised both eyebrows at her in ironic expression.

She noticed a server close by with a tray full of drinks, and tried to signal to her. The young woman, however, did not see her. Jorah craned his neck backward, turned his head, and managed to catch this server's eyes, and gestured elegantly for her to bring the tray over. She was serving Long Island iced teas and margaritas. Dany took one of the latter, Jorah, one of the former, and Barristan declined a drink.

In response to Dany's question, Jorah said, as the server strolled off, "As you say, Miss Targaryen. I like my job well enough. I've been doing it for about five years now." As he uttered this last sentence, shutters seemed to come down over his clear gaze for a moment, and somehow, Dany's intuition seemed to be telling her that there had been something about those five years that had marked a disappointing change in his life.

She gave at first a gentle smile and then let it turn playful. "I hope not for five years nonstop," she joked, leaning in to him in a comradely fashion and tapping his arm, "with no break for things like this party until tonight."

"Well..." he drawled, seeming as though he did not quite know what to make of her and her teasing. His eyes held hers uncertainly. "I cannot claim such a work ethic as that, no, but nor can I claim that I get out much."

Barristan all but snorted, but partially concealed the noise with a cough. Dany gave him a quizzical look, but the man turned his gaze elsewhere.

Jorah's eyes darted toward Barristan, too, then quickly back to Dany; or rather, her decolletage. It seemed that whatever he'd decided to make of her, he liked it, Dany realized, feeling the heat come into her cheeks. Good thing she'd never been a blusher. But why should she blush in any case? It was hardly the first time she'd been eyed like that by a man.

Jorah then attempted a flirty line by remarking, "I definitely think I picked the right night to go to a party, though."

He was a charming older fellow, if not at all handsome and completely devoid of sex appeal. He seemed to have the aura of a rather stalwart person, as well, and almost before Daenerys Targaryen knew what she was doing, she was asking this Jorah Mormont, "Would you like to ask me to dance?"

Both of Jorah's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. He blinked at her, but recovered fairly quickly, inclining his head respectfully as a pleased smile edged the corners of his mouth upward.

"If milady would like to dance, then I would like nothing better."

"Good answer," Dany replied, laughing and taking his arm, as Barristan looked on with an unreadable expression. They deposited their drinks on a table they passed as they walked to the dance floor- a broad expanse of cement bordered on one side by a trio of cabanas and on another by a wooden fence that marked the edge of the property. Once they reached this spacious patio, Jorah placed his hands delicately on her waist and she placed her on his broad shoulders as they began to sway to the smooth jazz music. Jorah's hands were so large that they nearly encircled her waist, and his demeanor was a little awkward at first, as though he hadn't danced with a woman in a long time. He didn't miss a step, and his movements were smooth and graceful for the big man that he was, but there seemed to be tension in his limbs, and he was completely silent for the first minute they danced.

For her part, Dany hadn't danced with a man in many years. The last time had to have been at Illyrio's house, at one of his parties, before she knew Drogo. She smiled at the thought of Illyrio. As time had passed, she'd realized that the man who had opened his home to herself and her late brother in Henderson, Nevada wasn't the wholly trustworthy soul working on pure faith and compassion that she'd believed him to be when she was a teenager. However, she still owed him a lot- for teaching her how to dance and much more. Whenever he held his parties- sometimes raucous and sometimes elegant, always filled with colorful characters and an abundance of good music and excellent food- she felt that she needed the frivolity and the chance to be carefree.

"How long have you been here, Daenerys? Are you settling in well?" Jorah's voice jolted her out of her contemplations.

He knew who she was. The talk had been making its rounds.

"How long have I been here? At this party?" She smiled knowingly up into his honest, plain face. His beard was coarse and curly, black and neat, and cropped relatively short, but still consisting of more hair than he had atop his head. He was about forty, she supposed, with intelligent eyes the darkest shade of green she'd ever seen, and a swarthy complexion.

His lips twitched in amusement.

"In the Southland. Yes, I know that you are new to the area, but...please don't let that make you uneasy." His features were sedate, but there was a gleam in his eye, at once sharp and friendly. "If people have been talking, it's been all good things."

"Very well. I'll choose to believe that." Dany smirked at him. "Even though I suspect some people might not be so happy that I moved here two weeks ago and am settling in fine," she said, answering his question. He must know which ones she was talking about. He was here, at Margaery's party. Margaery who was dating a Baratheon. "You are a charming liar, sir."

He wasn't enough of a phony to argue with her, for which she was grateful, though he briefly looked flustered, and shifted his gaze to the side.

"Do you live in Pasadena?" she asked him.

He looked back to her, seemingly having recovered from his embarrassment.

"I do."

She saw Margaery off in the background by the entrance to the pool area, talking to a striking but somber looking redheaded young woman. Daenerys turned away and back to Jorah, not wanting to attract their hostess's attention just yet.

"Do you like it?" Jorah gave a noncommittal shrug. "Can't complain," he said gruffly. He removed one hand from her waist briefly to tug at the collar of his blazer. "It's been a hot day for April, don't you think?"

Dany shook her head in disagreement. "I tolerate heat really well. But it ought to cool down soon. Look, the sun's starting to set."

It was, and as if on cue, some clear Christmas lights that had been strung from tree to tree around the yard came on, as well as some standing outdoor lamps off in the near distance by the pool.

"Did you make that happen?" Jorah joked.

"Of course. I am full of magic," Dany teased back. Returning to the subject of him, though, she asked, "And have you always lived there?"

"No, I, I come from Oregon," said Jorah. "A place legitimately called Sweet Home, in Oregon. That's where I was born and raised."

Dany had never been to Oregon and knew nothing about it, other than that Portland was supposedly "quirky", so for all she knew, his whole vibe fit in there, in Sweet Home, well. Jorah definitely had the whole 'casual' part of California casual down, but there was something in him that Dany didn't associate with SoCal, at least not the one she'd always imagined in her head. Tonight, he did stand out a bit amongst the other company- he was less slick and effortlessly chic. The khaki pants he was wearing were a bit rumpled, his forest green button down shirt could be seen to be slightly faded this close up, and his dull brown jacket was a rather old-fashioned style. She was going to ask him more about his life in this place called Sweet Home when the song ended, and both Jorah and Dany ceased their movements. He kept one hand resting just above her hip. She would have gladly danced another with him, but at just that moment, there was an interruption.

"Daenerys!" A musical voice was calling loudly for her, and she turned in the general direction of it to find Margaery Tyrell hurrying toward her. Jorah's hand fell away. Dany looked up at him, and they exchanged a smile, his subtle and wry, and hers an amused response to his. It was plain that Jorah, despite having been somehow invited here today, didn't have a lot of patience for a personality like Margaery's.

"You'll excuse me?" he asked, though it appeared less a question when he stepped back, putting a couple feet of distance between them, and looking like he wanted to back up even more.

"If I must, and I see that I do," said Dany lowly, almost in a whisper as she walked toward him and leaned forward, grinning conspiratorially and squeezing his arm.

"I think, actually, that I'll just call it an evening and head on home." Jorah was still wearing that small, dry smile. "I somehow got invited to this thing," he said, surprising Dany by speaking aloud her thoughts about him, "stayed for a couple hours, and that's enough for me. I'm very happy I decided to drop by, though. I hope to see you again."

"Preferably sooner rather than later," Dany responded, giving a little wave. "See you, Jorah."

"Daenerys," he said, looking deeply into her eyes, and giving a bob of his head before rotating neatly on a heel and walking off.

Dany greeted Margaery Tyrell with all the enthusiasm of someone meeting a lifelong friend, and Margaery's attitude was similarly warm and welcoming.

"I hope you're having an excellent time!" Margaery declared, beaming.

"You've definitely put together quite a party," remarked Daenerys. "Congratulations. I'm very glad to be here."

"Thank you so much," Margaery gushed, her lively brown eyes skittering around the scene before her as her lips curved into a smile of pride at what she surveyed. "I put a lot of work into today, so it means a lot to hear you say so. Of course, my grandmother certainly had a ton to do with the planning, as well. She is such a social butterfly." She giggled.

Dany couldn't help but chuckle, too. She'd had Barristan apprise her of everything he knew about the Tyrells, and that included some facts about the matriarch of the clan, Olenna Tyrell. She'd learned that the old woman was in her eighties, but her mental faculties were as sharp as a tack, and her tongue, as well. She had acted in a few relatively well-received films as a young woman, had several high profile affairs, and had eventually married a real estate magnate who had been a trust fund baby, and had a son with him, Mace Tyrell. Mace was now a very successful movie producer, and his children up-and-comers in their respective fields: Loras, his son, as a model, and Margaery, his daughter as a popular jewelry designer. All in all, the Tyrells had heaps of money and lots of valuable connections.

Margaery then fulfilled the role that Dany had hoped she would even before first arriving at the party, and they began to circulate so Daenerys could be introduced to some of the other guests. Margaery's grandmother, was not one of them, however, as the little old lady was always surrounded by a swarm of admirers, and her granddaughter suggested that they not just intrude. This was a little disappointing,as Daenerys was intrigued to meet the woman she'd just heard from Margaery was affectionately known as the Queen of Thorns.

Olenna Tyrell's granddaughter soon left Dany to her own devices, having deposited her within a circle Margaery's "good friends". There were a few famous actors and musicians included within this circle, but Dany had never been one to fawn over showbiz types. The company wasn't as interesting as she might have hoped for, but this was progress, at least. She was learning how to mingle again, and might well be opening up some networking opportunities that would prove valuable. She had just walked away to go scope out the table of appetizers laid under one of the cabanas when suddenly Margaery's voice was heard, amplified by a microphone, and coming from the direction of a little white gazebo that stood in the middle of the lawn.

"Would everyone please gather 'round!" The guests all obeyed, shuffling in en masse around the gazebo, Dany, as well. Where she ended up standing, she noticed, there was a fire pit just off to the side of her. Three young women, cousins of Margaery's who Dany had spoken to briefly and whose names had escaped her, were walking toward it, giggling. One of them was holding a utility lighter. Some members of the crowd acted like they knew what was going on, while still others looked as nonplussed as Dany felt.

Margaery announced, "Let's get the fire started!"

Although that was obviously the job of one or all of the three cousins (possibly 'all' because they were all giggling over the utility lighter like they were two nervous to click it- even though they were in their late teens or early twenties)- a stooped, slight old man with gray hair and a gray complexion, someone Dany thought she remembered seeing around Olenna earlier, looked straight at her and said in loud, raspy voice,

"Don't let the pyro start it!"

Dany managed a wobbly smile, confused. What on earth did he mean by that? She didn't linger long on the question, however. After a moment, she was sure she knew what his remark had been about. The poor, ignorant old man probably didn't know or had forgotten in his senility the true definition of that word and was under the mistaken impression that it meant 'hot'. That must be it. She was looking smokin' this evening. He probably meant she'd lend to much heat to the fire and make the whole property go up. He was evidently one of those older gentleman that had to let everyone know he hadn't lost his eye for the ladies.

The guests started passing around a notepad, from which they each ripped off a slip of paper. Then, a pack of pens started making the rounds. Dany watched in mystification, before her attention was diverted to the fire that had suddenly flared to life. "

This is something I like to do from time to time at my parties," Margaery was saying from the gazebo. "A notepad and a couple pens are currently being passed around, for a little activity I'm fond of doing that's all about wishes and dreams. After all, why should the only wishes we make all year be made on our birthdays when we blow out the candles?" Their hostess laughed, so melodically it was veered toward pretty damn cheesy. Just like the content of her speech. "If you dream it, you can do it. I believe in the power of positive thinking. And so we use this bit of symbolism. Write down one of your dreams, and drop it in the fire. As the flames engulf these scraps of paper, let our desires become inflamed, as well."

A few men in the audience hollered and wolf-whistled at this. Margaery giggled and pretended to look modest.

Dany was skeptical.

_Burn your dreams?_

It sounded counterintuitive, all wrong, but then she remembered the little urn she had held in her hands. Far too small for such a big, powerful man. She'd held it in her hands, and then scattered one of her burnt dreams to the wind above a blood red canyon...

She shook herself out of her dark reverie and dutifully scribbled her wish on a scrap of paper. **Power** , was what she wrote, deciding to keep it simple. She though about writing **business success** , but why not expand upon that premise a bit? Why not, while she was going through this juvenile routine?

She delivered it to the fire, and turned to walk back up the grass. In the process, however, she somehow managed to turn her ankle. Her feet slid involuntarily along the grass, failing to gain purchase so that she could recover, and then suddenly went out from under her.

In a flash, someone had their arm around her. For a fleeting moment, she had the strange wish that it was Jorah Mormont helping her to stand, them she remembered that he had already left.

The man who had come to her rescue was a very pretty young man. He looked familiar, and presently Dany recalled Margaery pointing him out across the lawn as being her brother, Loras Tyrell. He was probably, objectively, one of the best looking guys she had ever seen, but he wasn't her type. His features were good and regular, but too delicate, his sandy hair had too much product in it, and he seemed overall too high maintenance, although certainly nothing unusual for California.

"Thank you," she told him, grasping his arm as she steadied herself.

"That's alright. Are you?" He gave her a soft smile of concern.

"Nothing harmed but my ego!" she joked. After she released her hold on him, she noticed that he was moving over to where the little notepad and a few pens lay on the ground. He must have dropped them to help her.

Loras chuckled.

"Daenerys, right? I thought it was so cool when I heard that my sister ran into you yesterday and invited you to the party. Are you having a good time?"

"The best." It was a lie, but it wasn't like she was having an awful time, either. Even though she'd slightly downplayed the injury she'd done herself. Her ankle was feeling somewhat sore and vulnerable.

"Good," said Loras, smiling charmingly. He bent down and picked up the pad and pens. "I heard you've been mentioning that you might open up a clothing store in L.A. That's so awesome. I'd really like to hear more about that sometime. But for now, I'd better get this stuff put away."

Dany regarded him curiously, but he had turned away and didn't notice. He wasn't as smooth an operator as he likely believed himself to be, thought Dany with an inner giggle. Very possibly, he'd only rushed to her aid because he wanted to introduce himself and establish a connection that could help his career as a model. His whole dialogue seemed to end a little too abruptly, and with too flimsy of an excuse. Surely there wasn't a great, big rush to get some pens and a notepad back to his sister. It was pretty evident to her that he wanted to make a short and sweet impression and then get on outta there.

There was another young man standing a moderate distance from them and from the huddle in general. He was as handsome as Loras, and also well-dressed , but his black hair had been cut into a quite short, no-fuss style. Still, he had an unmistakable...jaunty air about him, and she watched him and Loras lock eyes, and engage in some kind of nonverbal communication, the dark-haired wagging his head to the side, raising his eyebrows, Loras bobbing his in the opposite direction, smiling and mouthing something. The dark-haired young man blew him a kiss and Dany was pretty sure she understood their relationship.

Her eyes fell again on the notepad and pens in Loras's hand, and she was speaking before she knew it.

"Wait- can I have another piece of paper and a pen?"

Loras Tyrell turned to her in surprise, but gave the requested items over with a small grin.

"No rule saying you can only have one wish."

This time she wrote on the slip of paper, **love** , then moved swiftly forward and dropped it into the fire. She didn't trip going back this time, but she found herself retroactively puzzled by her actions. She didn't understand the impulse. If she'd given even a second more thought to her second wish, she would have written down **home** , although she was already here. She didn't, after all, _feel_ , quite at home yet. Why write down **love** , when she wasn't...she was nowhere near ready for anything like that again. She still mourned Drogo. _Of course_ , she justified it to herself, _it's not like all love is romantic. Part of feeling at home is being surrounded by a loving support system. That can be my family- what's left of it- and my friends and my employees_.

Dany stayed only about twenty minutes longer at the party; by that point, it was breaking up and it seemed acceptable to go. She went and informed Barristan of her intention to leave. He asked her if she would be okay with him driving her home, instead of calling for a limo like the one he'd so generously ordered to bring her to the party, and she agreed. As Barristan escorted her across the grass on the way out, a firm hand on her shoulder and around her waist so she didn't trip and fall with her slightly vulnerable ankle, he asked her with a hint of a sardonic smile, "So...before you parted from Jorah tonight...did he give you anything? Did he...slip you the keys to his car, perhaps? Promise to lasso the moon for you?" He was close behind her on the sidewalk as they walked down to where his car was parked, and she could feel his deep voice, his wry amusement, rumbling in his chest.

"What?" she asked, turning to him in bewilderment. "Of course not. Why would you ask me that?"

Barristan's smile stretched tighter as they reached his vehicle. "Well, Jorah's always been fond of telling people how his second wife took him for everything he had. Though by all accounts- even his own, whether he realizes it or not..." he opened the passenger side door for her and handed her in "...he gave it to her willingly enough." He shut the door, then came around to the driver's side and got in. He buckled his seatbelt and folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back comfortably against the seat. "He's a sucker for a pretty face. I thought it might happen again," he said in a joking voice to Dany.

Dany rubbed her ankle and regarded Barristan with curiosity as he started the car and they slowly started to move and pull into the street, into the crush of other vehicles that were carefully attempting to maneuver around. "His second wife? Was she a- was she a gold digger? I didn't get the impression that Jorah was rich. Did he used to be?"

"Hardly," Barristan muttered. "I would have said that was part of the problem, but truth be told, I think that no matter how much money Jorah Mormont had had, he still would've overspent egregiously on her. He tried to show her as lavish a life as he could to keep her interested. In the end, of course, it didn't work, a result anyone could've seen coming a mile away. Jorah used to be a middling executive at a place called Bear Island Foundry."

Dany was silent as she chewed this all over. She decided she felt quite sorry for this aging, bearlike man, overall. He'd been foolish, but it had all been for love. How many people, in this day and age, were willing to go to any length for love? Most were all out for themselves.

"This was back when he lived in Sweet Home, and then there was some kind of...unpleasantness. Imprudence. I don't know exactly how things went, and I don't wish to tell tales, but he didn't leave under the best of terms. He was terminated, and some nasty accusations got thrown around. I know they felt he betrayed the company. Supposedly talk around town was enough that he was basically driven out of the place he'd lived his whole life." Barristan coughed. He'd been talking with an increased level of energy as he went on, almost as if he was getting a charge out of telling this tale, but then he suddenly seemed to feel as if he'd gotten carried away. "Like I said," he went on, more calmly, "I don't know the whole story. I've never spoken to him about it. It probably isn't my place to be going on like this."

Dany had indeed been surprised by his going on about Jorah like that. Barristan didn't seem like one for gossip. For the couple of weeks she'd known him, he'd always chosen his words carefully when speaking about others, and didn't seem quick to criticize. Except in the case of the Lannisters, which Dany fully endorsed. She couldn't believe that Jaime Lannister was still out there, running around with impunity, after he'd been responsible for her father's death- and by extension, her mother's. At least that Robert Baratheon, that slimeball who'd staged a coup of her father's company and flat-out murdered her oldest brother, Rhaegar, was dead, but that hadn't been the result of the execution he so richly deserved. That whole family was loathsome, and nauseated her. There were many in it who'd had a hand in bringing down her family. For a few minutes, she'd actually considered spurning Margaery's invite today, given that the girl was involved with a Baratheon. A Baratheon who was no less than the Usurper's own son. However, she'd decided it wasn't a strong enough connection to drive her away from an event that potentially held so many benefits for her. Besides, Joffrey was only in his mid-20's. He'd been an infant when everything went down. How could she blame the son for the sins of the father? Plus, Barristan had mentioned he was pretty sure no Baratheons or Lannisters would come to this party. He'd been right, thankfully.

Still, Dany needed to get her battle face on. She was bound to run into some of these people, eventually. She didn't fear them, but she wanted them to fear her, and she needed to conceive of the best way to make sure that happened.

It was time she got started on her career, and on her new identity. Moving was hard work, yes, but she'd had plenty of time to rest. And while she'd rested, she'd been dreaming of what she wanted to achieve here. Now she'd rested for long enough. It was about time to have a sitdown with Barristan and talk to him about the store she intended to open. She was the master of her own fortune now, at last, but she knew he still had all kinds of useful advice for her. She didn't really know much about becoming an entrepreneur, but she knew she wished to retain Barristan as her lawyer. And she'd have Irri or Jhiqui call, too, in the morning, and arrange a meeting with Margaery, to speak about possibly selling some of the acclaimed jewelry designer's pieces in her boutique.

 _From shop worker to shop owner.._.thought Dany, pleased. _And that's only the beginning...The time will come when I'll have my father's company back, as well._

She'd gone through so many changed in the last year- falling in love, and finally finding respect in a household, for once, and gaining independence from Viserys. Then she'd faced an even greater division from her brother when he'd died, gone on to lose Drogo, too, and miscarried their baby...all those ups and downs could have broken her, but she'd let them fire her up instead. And yet, she still didn't feel quite different enough. She didn't feel quite as empowered as she could be. That was unacceptable.

She started running her fingers through her hair- an old habit of hers when she was feeling thoughtful. She'd crimped it for tonight, into shimmering, rolling waves of liquid silver...feet of it. Her hair was down to her ass. She hadn't cut it in almost ten years.

"I need a haircut."

Barristan looked dubious, then just smiled gently. He stopped at a red light. They were out of Margaery and Olenna Tyrell's neighborhood and were in a more commercial area of Pasadena.

"Your long hair is very lovely, Daenerys." He spoke in a slow, lazy voice, knitted his fingers together and cracked his knuckles. It appeared that he was quite glad to be done with the party. "But I get it. From what I understand, women like to do something to their hair when there's been some kind of big change in their lives. I'm sure your new 'do' will look terrific."

She was still fingering the ends of her hair. She'd go tomorrow, first thing in the morning. As for tonight, well, all things considered, tonight was a good first step in her long-term plan to win back the life that should have been hers.

_To be continued..._


	3. Cersei 1

**_Cersei_ **

 

"So, this Dany Targaryen..."

Cersei Lannister looked up irritably to see her stepbrother, Jaime, taking long, casual strides into her bedroom.

"Is she as beautiful as everyone says she is?" he went on.

"I wouldn't know," she replied in a monotone. "I had no idea anyone was talking about her at all." She put her skincare goodies back inside the shopping bag she'd just recently brought them home in and stood up from the bed. She strutted on over to Jaime and rested her hands on his chest. "She's old news. Why on earth should anybody care?" She leaned in tantalizingly close to his handsome face, tilting her head just so as if for a kiss, only to breathe the words, "You just say these things to piss me off," over his lips instead of touching them with her own.

She danced out of reach just as his arm came up to hold her fast. She smirked; everyone had always said how good Jaime's reflexes were, that he moved quick as a cat. But all you had to do to gain an advantage was catch him off guard.

"Well, it works."

Cersei glanced over her shoulder to catch Jaime's smirk, then continued to the door.

"And she's not old news, Cece. She's newly back in California. And plenty of people want to know all about her."

Her back still turned to him, Cersei rolled her eyes. "Who saw you come up here, Jaime? I think you came in through my sitting room?"

Jaime hesitated. "Ruby's downstairs." She could hear the shrug in his voice. "I saw her when I first got here. But I also saw Tommen, and he roped me into a quick game of tennis with him before I could come up and see you. When we finished with that, Tommen went into one of the cabanas to cool off, and I slipped in..." Cersei noticed that his voice was growing nearer, and she swiftly shut the door. No sooner had she done so than she felt a pair of lean, strong arms encircle her waist. "...through the back door and up the back staircase," he continued, "without encountering anyone. I'm quite sure neither Ruby nor Tommen know what became of me." She felt his smirk against her throat when he buried his mouth against it, head hooked over her shoulder.

Cersei tensed. Jaime was always so brazen, so presumptuous. She was grateful that she wasn't desperately horny right now, or else she'd have to give in to his advances- though, not until she'd played a little hard to get, of course. It was just a game, but Jaime very rarely worked for anything in life, so she at least liked to make him work a little for her. However, today she had no time for the seduction or the roll between the sheets.

"Well, I wouldn't know how beautiful or _not_ that pyro nutjob's daughter is," Cersei responded tartly, changing the subject and breezing across the room to get away from him again. "I didn't go to Margaery's... _thing_."

"Didn't go?" Jaime repeated, cocking his head a little to one side, his silken hair catching the light as he did so. Cersei looked at that curtain of longish blond hair and thought that he looked a little like a perplexed golden retriever.

"Yes, that's right. Wasn't worth the trip, and I don't really like Margaery very much...or her dear grandmother."

Jaime paced the room, bringing a hand up to rub the scruff on his chin.

"Joffrey's quite serious about her, though, isn't he?"

"Oh, how on earth would you know how Joffrey thinks or feels about anything?" Cersei questioned, annoyed. "I'm so tired of it all, Jaime. The tedium of it. I'm tired of Joffrey's doe-eyed ' _Marg_ ' already. I'm tired of you not taking an interest in the children. And you- you of all people- asking if Daenerys Targaryen is a little miss hottie, after you killed her father and everything." Cersei sat back down on the bed, throwing one leg over the other and squinted at her stepbrother challengingly.

"What on earth does me killing- but not murdering- her father have to do with her being attractive?" asked Jaime with an emotionless chuckle. "If we're only allowed to find people attractive who would like us, or whose families we wouldn't hate, well, we're just setting up life to be even more frustrating than it already is." He smiled wryly.

"I see," Cersei nodded. "It's...frustrating for you to refrain from fantasizing about this Dany," she spoke the name with great disdain, "person. That's good to know." She rolled her eyes and glanced away from him, into the bag of moisturizers, serums, and concentrates she'd just brought home from her dermatologist. As she pawed through the loot, it was an action done more so to nettle Jaime than out of a burning curiosity to examine those items; true, she'd scooped them up from the armful (because a couple were recommended by Dr. Qyburn and a couple were just new in and were beautifully packaged) without really reading the backs or anything, but she could do that later.

"Oh, c'mon, don't put words in my mouth!" Jaime cried, seating himself beside her on the bed. Very close beside her. Right up against her. Even with her head turned from him, she breathed deep of his Armani Code. Not that it was overpowering; he always wore the perfect amount. It had been his signature fragrance since she bought him his first bottle at sixteen, and she always associated the smell with her other half, with a feeling of rooted-ness. Jaime again placed his mouth near her neck, and she felt a pleasant flush of warmth rise up from her breasts. Jaime's attention was also drawn to her boobs; he fingered a section of hair that hung over a breast, his knuckles just grazing the still high and firm (thanks to her most recent lift, but nobody needed to know that) mound.

"I'd rather you put something else in my mouth..." Jaime hinted quietly, and Cersei smirked, pulling away from him. She stood up again and folded her arms over her chest while staring down at him.

"Jaime, what on earth makes you think I want this right now?" she demanded testily. Her toes curled; her toes always curled reflexively when she was annoyed or worse. It was an alternative to the much-more-common reflex of making a fist, she supposed. It was also fitting, probably, that her toes curled in times of strife as they did when she was experiencing sexual pleasure. Whatever turn her passion took, one tiny involuntary outlet it always found was making her toes form a hard, reflexive curve, while her fervor grew. She didn't shrink from conflict: she rose to the occasion.

She curled her toes hard against the plush white bedroom carpet before turning and sauntering back toward the opposite end of the room.

"You show up here, on one of my _very_ few days off, and arrogantly assume I nothing better to do than roll around in the sheets with you? And this is after you start to lecture me about spending time with my son's flavor of the month, and kindly share with me how attractive you find another woman."

_A woman in her twenties._

"Oh, stop it, Cersei, let's not fight," Jaime groaned, moving toward her once more with that cocky, graceful loping walk of his. "You don't know how glad I was to find out that you're here today, and not at the office."

"It turns out there is some rest for the wicked, occasionally," Cersei said, smirking slightly, reaching her arms back and giving the shining golden locks that fell to the midpoint of her shoulder blades a haughty flip. She then reached up and patted at her bejeweled metal headband, as if making sure it was still in place, and that all her hair was laying flat and smooth atop her crown. It was a somewhat pointless gesture; her gorgeous hair was highly manageable, and, without much effort other than the most luxurious shampoo, conditioner, and mouse, she rarely had a hair out of place.

Jaime slipped his arms around her waist and held her like that, his fingers laced together, palms pressing into the small of her back. They were so sure and strong; one of the things she loved most in the world was the feel of them on her. In the realm of physicality, that's where Jaime could come across as powerful, and that's when Cersei was most attracted to him.

She chewed on her Restylane-infused lip thoughtfully.

"But I probably should have been at work today. Who else can I trust to make sure things get done right?"

Jaime laughed. "I'm sure Dad would be proud of your work ethic."

Tywin Lannister was not her father, but as far as she was concerned, he might as well be. Her biological father had been some loser she had never even known, who left her beautiful mother and her when Cersei was two years old. She found out some years later from Joanna that he'd died only three years subsequent to his abandonment of them, it served the slimy bastard right. None of it mattered, though, because, also when Cersei was five, Joanna married the illustrious and imposing Tywin Lannister. And that brought into their lives Tywin's son, Jaime, who was Cersei's age exactly. Tywin's first spouse, Jaime's mother, had also been some inconsequential person. Well, she had been rich and a member of 'the right circles', at least, but she seemed to have made no impression on Tywin besides giving him the only son he wasn't ashamed of. Actually, that wasn't such a small thing at all, but probably not the only thing a wife would like to be appreciated and remembered for. Tywin never spoke of Jaime's mother, and from what Cersei understand, it was as simple as him having accidentally knocked the woman up, and, even as a young man, already thinking of legacy and progeny (not to mention not wanting to offend a prominent family), married her. She'd died when Jaime was three, in a car accident, and then, a couple years later, Joanna had entered the picture. They'd been the perfect couple, utterly devoted to one another, and Tywin had adopted Cersei and given her the last name of Lannister. Cersei had never felt like anything other than a Lannister.

There would be a reason for each of the Lannister kids, a reason for each of them to be his favorite. Jaime, of course, was his firstborn son, and handsome, athletic, and charming. Cersei wasn't his own flesh and blood, but she was the daughter of the woman he'd loved more than anything, and she'd made him proud, in her own way. She was and always had been a beauty, not awkward or an uggo who would shame him, and she felt that, somehow, where business acumen was concerned, at least, she'd wound up being the most similar to him. There was also a myth that father were closest to their daughters, though Cersei had never found that to be the case.

And then there was Tyrion, the only child he'd made with his true love.

But Tyrion had never been a true candidate. His chances were shattered at birth. Tywin Lannister was an implacable man, and he'd made up his mind very early on that Tyrion was only ever going to be a cause of regret. Women in this age, in developed countries, weren't supposed to die giving birth, but Cersei's mother, Tywin's wife had. It was something Tywin had never forgiven his younger son for. His younger son...and his dwarf son. Tyrion's dwarfism was also something Tywin held against him, and Tywin would probably admit to that to anyone. Lannisters weren't meant to be outcasts, after all.

But as for their father, well...he was the only man Cersei had known in her whole life who was worth pleasing and impressing. Robert had been worth catching, but that didn't mean she'd seen him as anything more than an irrepressibly self-indulgent lout almost from the very beginning of their relationship.

Cersei said, a little stiffly, as this was something Jaime routinely teased her about, and something she'd never found all that funny, "I hope Father is proud that he raised a daughter, that he raised one child, at least, who takes her part in the empire seriously."

"Yeah, I bet you do," he said, with a tiny smirk, and she glared at him.

"Why should all my hard work go unappreciated? Which is does, practically. Our father may be the big, strong lion manning the pride, but while the big strong lion man hangs out in his den and takes credit for guiding everything that matters with his powerful hand-"

Jaime interrupted again with, "Shouldn't that be paw?"

She went on as if she hadn't heard him, not even deigning to give him a scornful look as she gave her hair a flip and stared off to the side, at some indefinite point in space.

"The lioness hunts. The lioness is hungry. The lioness is a lean, mean killing machine." She flashed her flawlessly straight and white smile at him. "However," she sighed. "I'm going to try to quiet my mind and get some peace by taking a swim in the pool."

She turned to face him fully and, smiling, slid the spaghetti straps of her top down off her shoulders. His eyes lit up, and he took a step toward her. She chuckled internally at the hope in his eyes. She moved forward, too, and met him halfway.

"I'm going for a swim, Jaime," she stated again, in a purr, pressed right up against the side of his body, feeling his perfect, toned arm press between her breasts. "That's why I'm getting undressed. Not because I have the time or inclination at all today to play around with you." She retreated from his side, finally, feeling the gratifying hum of electricity through her body, that old familiar thrill of seduce and deny. She comforted him with, "Maybe next time," and patted him on the arm before she walked across the room to her capacious walk-in closet and began looking at her bikini choices.

She gave him a say in which one she put on, however, and allowed him to stay and watch her change.

~*~

Tommen was in the cabana where Jaime had left him: asleep now, on a white wicker chaise, one of his slightly beefy arms dangling off the side, his knuckles trailing the ground. He was still in his tennis whites. Tommen loved tennis, which was a slightly baffling thing, seeing as he wasn't very good at it at all. It was just one of the countless ways in which he differed from Joff: when Joff picked up a sport, it was either to master it, or cast it aside if, after giving a shot, he deemed it unworthy of mastery. Joffrey displayed a relentless desire to be the best. When he had been learning tennis, he'd taken losing a match to his instructor so hard that he'd walloped the ball hard enough into the old man's face to break his nose. Cersei's lips twisted wryly at the memory. She would rather her children learn _that_ lesson, to master their endeavors or else destroy all that could best them, than to employ the mindset that Tommen seemed to enjoy. Tommen didn't seem to care much about the hard thing, winning, only the easy thing, having a good time. What sort of mother should let her kids slack off like that?

Cersei sighed. Joffrey was...Joffrey was a trial, at times. Most of the time. But she thanked God for him. He was handsome, he was charismatic, he was ruthless, he would make her proud. Tommen might never achieve anything of note, and her beautiful but unambitious (at Berkley though she may be) daughter Myrcella might only ever be a great man's arm candy, but at least her first-born knew the meaning of ambition, and how to be a lion of the world.

She lifted aside the flaps and slipped through the entrance of the cabana and approached her younger son's sleeping form, standing beside the chaise lounge and idly stroking his golden hair. She looked back to where Jaime stood slightly behind her, eyes fastened on the dial of his Rolex.

"Tommen," she said softly, still caressing his hair, trying to get him to wake up "Tommen." She made her voice firmer. "Tommen." Still he didn't respond, so she gave his hair a tug. "Tommen!" she said, one more time, her voice crisp and no-nonsense.

He finally gave a reluctant groan and shifted on the chaise.

"Hey, there, sport, time to wake up," Jaime said, coming forward and gently shaking the boy by the shoulders. "Your mother wants to speak to you."

Tommen's eyes fluttered open, and Cersei addressed him.

"Hey. I think it's time for you to go inside now." She removed her hand from his hair and planted it on the back of his chair. The last thing Tommen needed was to know his mother was petting his hair, and come to see that kind of affection from his mommy as usual, or worse, to expect it. The boy was soft enough already. For Christ's sake, he was seventeen now, almost an adult, and he probably still wouldn't smack her wrist away for doing such a thing like Joffrey had done before he was a preteen.

"When's the last time you applied sunscreen?"

"Yeah," Jaime chose to pipe up. "You know you burn like bacon, buddy."

Cersei's eyes flashed over to him in chastisement. When she looked back to Tommen, she saw him looking slightly uncertain. She sighed internally. Jaime should remember that Tommen was sensitive about his weight, and realize the poor boy would connect being compared to bacon to being compared to a pig.

"Hey, Uncle Jaime," was all he said, in that slow, easygoing voice, with that soft smile, in that way of his that marked him as just so much _nicer_ than most of the other kids who grew up in Pacific Palisades. She clapped a hand down on her youngest child's shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Go on inside, Tom. Weren't you going to work on that book report?"

A roundish sort of hand with very rounded fingertips came up to scratch at a patch of skin below the shoulder Cersei was grasping, an area that indeed was starting to look a little pink and scaly.

"Well...uh...it's not due until...this Thursday, Mom." He blinked up at her owlishly.

She squeezed his shoulder again, more firmly this time. "It's always best to get out in front of these things. When you've got an important project, you shouldn't put it off until you simply can't avoid it anymore. You meet the challenge head-on, and before it has the chance to get the better of you. I've taught you this your whole life, haven't I?"

"Yeah," answered Tom, not enthusiastically, but readily. Cersei had far less trouble from him than a parent should ever have; it was both a blessing and a curse, as far as she was concerned. But that didn't mean she wanted Jaime trying to talk him into rebellion.

Jaime smirked at him in attempted collusion even as he spoke to Cersei.

"Oh, Cece, but what could be the point of it, really? The kid's already going to college. That's assured, right?"

"Of course it is," said Cersei, replying before Tommen could, rounding on her stepbrother with a severe expression, as her son chuckled quietly behind her. "But I'd like for my son to have both his rights and his achievements. He's going to write a great paper. He's going to be proud of that great paper. He's going to show everybody what he can do."

She turned back toward Tommen for a moment. "You don't want to turn into a confirmed, hopeless slacker like your uncle Jaime, do you?" And she looked again to her stepbrother.

Jaime, not insulted, merely gave his head a cheerful waggle and flashed an unrepentant smile back and forth between Cersei and Tommen. Tommen grinned, but listened to his mother, passing beneath the flap of the cabana, which Cersei held open for him.

She watched Tommen trudge in his tennis whites toward the little path heading to the side door. She found it difficult to believe that he was almost an adult, legally- if in no other way- already. It was the fashion for many coastal women to wait until their thirties to begin having children. At least she'd gotten a young start. She looked so much better than any other mother of grown children than she had ever seen.

Once he was gone, Cersei went into the pool house and fiddled with the controls for the outside sound system.

The pool speakers blasted Beyonce, and Cersei dropped her printed Zac Posen cover-up and strutted around the edge of the water while Jaime did a piss-poor job of being inconspicuous about checking out the body he'd seen a million times before, in every type of clothing imaginable and out of it.

Cersei rolled her eyes.

" _Talk_ , Jaime," she ordered.

Jaime started, and blinked at her uncomprehendingly.

"Talk," she repeated briskly, sitting down at the side of the pool and dipping her feet and calves into it. "Seriously, what are you doing?" She gave him an oblique, critical glance, "you really should fucking know by now that you shouldn't just openly gawk at me like that. When you show up here, it helps to keep up pretense by needing to talk to me." She clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and swirled her feet gently around under water, looking at him admonishingly.

Today, though, Jaime was in one of his more stubborn moods. One of his more foolish ones, too.

"Who here even watches us, Cece? Not wanting the kids to see, I get, but...isn't there some kind of confidentiality clause in those employment contracts?"

He started peeling off his clothes, and Cersei watched discreetly from beneath lowered eyelids, holding off on asking if he was wearing trunks under his jeans until it was clear that, yes, he was.

"Only enforceable if I can prove who talked, and even though I'm certain I _could_ ," replied Cersei testily, "the damage would've already been done, wouldn't it?" She snorted back incredulous laughter. "Honestly, Jaime. Don't you ever _think_? You know there have been whispers for years. Somebody from my staff comes out with a story like that and people would believe it instantly. Hell, the goddamn traitor who went around shopping a story like that might not care if they got sued or my influence prevented them from ever working again. The money they'd be raking in after selling us out might be enough for them to live on for the rest of their worthless lives!"

Jaime used the ladder for once to climb into the pool, instead of canon balling in like a child. He swam over the short distance to her, and treaded water before her.

"Okay, Cece," he grinned. He lowered his voice to a shade louder than a whisper, though Cersei hadn't said a damn thing about whispering. "I won't try anything unless I know it's just you and me, behind closed doors. You happy now?" And then he had the nerve to splash her.

She hissed in displeasure and climbed to her feet.

"Ecstatic. Although you _still_ haven't told me why you're here!" she fumed. She stuck her toes back in the water and kicked some water back at him. He smiled insufferably and made a grab for her ankle, which she yanked back. She looked down at him, so incredibly handsome, but the definition of California Casual. When dressed, he embodied that fashion sense pretty much always, but in a more essential way, he was... _just so casual_ , casual in a way often associated with the West Coast. Laid back, almost to a fault. Definitely to a fault, in Jaime's case. Plenty of people failed to realize that this area of the country was full of people who lived in L.A. to work, but then somebody like Jaime would come along and blot out the image of those whose hardworking shoulders held up the town.

"Who says I'm here for any damn reason besides visiting my nephew and sister?" he volleyed back, giving a spacious shrug before returning to moving his arms through the water, slicing them out to the sides, then scooping them forward. "Is that so unusual?"

"I just get the feeling that you're hiding something. You can't hide anything from me," Cersei stated flatly, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Know me inside and out, do you, Cece?" Jaime queried, with a dry little twist of his lips. He moved over to the edge of the pool, pulling his arms up out of the water and folding them over the side.

"There is something." It wasn't a question. "You came here, and instead of coming straight to me, you played tennis with Tommen first. You didn't come here for him. He roped you into it before you could come and see me, those were your words. Now you have seen me. Was this supposed to be a booty call? Because you didn't get what you wanted then, did you?" She smirked, and forestalled Jaime's next argument, which she saw forming on this lips, "I know you'll say it wasn't for lack of trying, but you're usually far more stubborn, and besides, we don't usually meet up for liaisons here. I'm not enough of a fool to habitually allow it. Likewise, I doubt you'd stop by just to chat, either. There are too many venues you prefer over simply sitting around my dear departed husband's home."

Jaime realized there was no point in pretending otherwise, resignation taking control of his perfect chiseled features as _Drunk in Love_ took its turn blasting from the speakers.

"Fine, then, fine. All I'm doing is imparting some information here, okay? You can take that information, and absorb it, obsess over it...but it's actually pretty low-grade information, when all is said and done, and there's nothing to actually be done about it yet, anyway. So, there's going to be a meeting- time and place yet to be determined- because we're letting Margaery Tyrell do this thing on LEON. She gets five hours in a couple weeks to hawk the jewelry from her new economically-priced line. I guess you would probably say her junk jewelry, in other words." He flashed her a crooked, conspiratorial smile.

Cersei grinned a little, too, to think about that pathetic little, common Tyrell girl's pandering to the great unwashed reaching such a tacky new low.

"But doesn't that woman...that one who's normally on that station twenty-four seven trying to sell stuff..." She couldn't think of the name, and she snapped her fingers while she thought, waiting for it to come to her.

"Taena Merryweather," Jaime supplied.

"Yes, that's it." Taena Merryweather. Older than Margaery Tyrell, maybe, but a good deal prettier, if you asked Cersei, and certainly much less common-looking. And lately becoming somewhat of a popular T.V. personality. "Doesn't she mind making way so little Marg can take over?"

"It's for charity, Cece," Jaime said with a shrug. "She's giving the majority of the profits from everything she sells during those five hours to charity. For some reason, it doesn't look good to make too much of a stink about that. Besides, not everyone is like you." His emerald eyes flashed at her, like light bouncing off high-polished gems, and he smiled slightly. "Not everyone worries so much...is so paranoid...thinking everyone wants to cast you down and take your place."

"No, not everyone is like me. Not everyone can see people for what they really are," Cersei retorted simply.

"Anyway," carried on Jaime. "There's also going to be a talk soon about the Tyrells investing in our broadcast division. Mace Tyrell wants a spot on the board of directors."

"There's a position open?" Cersei quizzed, quirking an eyebrow. This was the first that she'd ever heard of such a thing, despite having her spies over at Lannister Broadcasting. And Jaime, of course, but as a source of information about the inner workings and jockeying for power within the very same company at which he was vice president, he was rather lacking, to say the least.

"There's a position being created."

"For Mace Tyrell? What on earth do we need him for?" She gave a little disbelieving laugh as she eyed her stepbrother doubtfully. "Why do we need any a blowhard movie producer, but why, especially, do we need an extra-obnoxious, tubby one with pit stains and a face like a ferret?"

Jaime made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

"Father seems to think it's a grand idea. The way he puts it, it makes a lot of sense. He's been wanting to get into television, and it would put so many resources, connections, and _a lot_ of money at our disposal. You know, Cece, how sometimes it's all we can do to keep our heads above water, no matter what it look like. We always appreciate a nice, fat influx of money."

Cersei could use some of that money over at Baratheon Press, too, but she bit her tongue.

"I said 'an investment', but really it's something between that and a merger..."

Her heart must have stopped for a moment when he said that.

Jaime could sense her distress, and hastened to reassure her, "Maybe I shouldn't have used the 'm' word. The Lannisters won't truly be sharing billing with anyone, so to speak. He gets his say and his dividends and his studio gets a logo at the back of our shows. And we get to take advantage of all the resources an alliance with the Tyrells has to offer."

"I don't know if I like this." She did know. And she didn't like it. However, it didn't seem like there was anything to be done about it at present. Father would be back soon enough from managing that affair with the Harrenhal Company, and he would see that this deal was done right. It was having this conviction in mind that made her hardly put up a fight when Jaime said,

"We've got time, Cece. It's like I said, the meeting hasn't even happened yet."

Soon they stretched out onto a couple of neighboring outdoor sofas on which to sun themselves, Cersei having decided to drop the topic of the Tyrells, turn off the music, and just relax. There wasn't much conversation between them, and when there was a particularly long lull, Jaime might have started dozing behind the shades he'd dug out of the pocket of his khakis, for all she knew. She looked at the lenses of those sunglasses, a few light scratches and nicks clearly visible. He was always so careless. Not that he couldn't afford another pair, but he hadn't gone and bought that other pair, had he? He was continuing to wear the ones that looked bad. The twenty-five hundred dollar ones Cersei had bought him for Christmas which he'd allowed to be damaged.

She transferred her gaze then to the house behind her. It was even more opulent than the home she'd grown up in, and Tywin Lannister had never been one to slack off when it came to surrounding his family with luxury. She'd adored the house her father had taken herself and her mother to live in after Joanna and Tywin's marriage, but this place, House Baratheon though it technically was, she loved even more. It was positively palatial. That was one good thing, at least, that Robert had "allowed" her- to pick out their home. She leaned her head far back, but it was uncomfortable, and unless she stood up, she wasn't even going to be able to see the top floor of the house. She settled instead for admiring the stately back portico, supported by its three wide, elegant Grecian-style columns. They were of a sand color that almost seemed to glow a brilliant gold with the light the sun cast on the polished surface of the stone.

Jaime's toe tickled her ankle, and Cersei jerked her feet back from the end of the sofa. Looking over to him, she was mildly amused, although not surprised, to see that his pose mirrored hers almost exactly. She expected to find some mischievous expression on his face, but instead, he looked distracted. His gaze was completely arrested by something up ahead in the distance, over the gate enclosing the pool area, past the hedge of bushes on the other side, seemingly at the walkway beyond that skirted the backyard after coming up from the driveway. In contrast to the accidental brush of his toe against her ankle, the hard jab which Cersei gave to Jaime's ankle with her toe was full of purpose. She gave him a questioning look when he turned to her.

"Tyrion," he said by way of explanation, and Cersei sighed to herself in exasperation.

"Hmm," she murmured, stretching languidly. "You can see him from this far away?"

"Shame on you, Cersei," said Jaime. "That was weak and you know it. And for someone who always thinks she's so witty."

Cersei slid her legs over the side of the sofa, sat up, then stood up. Jaime did the same. Cersei lifted a hand and shielded her eyes from the sun, staring toward the figure coming up the path. The discovery she made was not a happy one. It could be no one but Tyrion. Not at that height, with that walk.

He waved seemingly cheerfully when he came into clearer view, and Cersei clicked her tongue in frustration and groaned. Jaime, meanwhile, returned the wave. It seemed to take forever for Tyrion to get to them, but when he was near enough that he could hear her without her having to shout, she demanded of him,

"What are you doing here, you ugly little demon monkey? My time is too valuable to spare any for you."

"Cersei..." Jaime said in a slight tone of warning, even as he wore a small smile. He was used to her and Tyrion's sniping, although he infuriatingly kept a soft spot for that awful, deformed little jerk.

"Relax, sis, I'm not here for you." Tyrion waddled past her with his usual air of insolence and stopped in front of Jaime. "I'm here for our brother."

Cersei frowned. She was never certain whether or not to correct Tyrion when he called Jaime 'their' brother. On the one hand, she wanted to claim that Jaime was much more her family than he was Tyrion's. He was the other half of herself, and had filled so many roles over the years. She supposed one of them was brother. He was protective of her. There was a certain comradery between them. And he felt like family, like so much more than a mere romantic interest. The connection between them had been so automatic and natural and continued on so strongly that it was hard for Cersei to believe sometimes that it had sprung from nothing, instead of a blood bond.

"What's up, little bro?" asked Jaime, voice casual, air easy as ever, but brow furrowed. Cersei had to imagine it was probably rare for Tyrion to chase him down like this. That damn Imp of a brother of theirs seemed to relish the occasional opportunity to show up and rankle her, but that didn't mean he'd ever shown any interest in actually hanging out at Cersei's home just for the hell of it, not that she would ever allow that. Plus, did anybody come and get somebody to tell them something unless it was urgent?

"Yes, what _is_ up?" Cersei inquired, in a tone distinctly less nonchalant than Jaime's. She stepped closer to her stepbrother, and back into Tyrion's frame of vision, determined not to be shut out of this conversation.

The little smirk Tyrion aimed at her could not hide his frustration, but he went on.

"I had to find you to let you know that there is a lunchtime meeting tomorrow that you should _absolutely_ make sure to grace with your presence. Mace Tyrell and some of his team, plus his mother, _plus_ his daughter are going to be there. Father will be sending Uncle Kevin as a proxy to represent his interests, and negotiations are to begin immediately."

"They are taking advantage of Father being out of town," Cersei interrupted, stricken with a sickening feeling.

"Are we really sure, though," mused Tyrion, "that Father would have that a big a problem with this? We all know how he is. Big man in charge. He sends a proxy so he doesn't have to humble himself at this meeting, but you can't believe for one moment that he hasn't been communicating constantly with Mace. He knows what the man is after. Even if Mr. Tyrell didn't come right out and say it, a man as shrewd as Father would know. I believe that he's okay with what Team Tyrell is after. He would never deign to admit that anyone could be a threat to the stranglehold he has on the leadership of Lannister Broadcasting. He'll just gladly take the boost to the company kitty and go on blindly believing himself invincible."

"Tyrion," said Cersei slowly, chewing on the mingled tastes of a practical watchfulness toward the well-being of her Father's company, and the unpleasant and confusing notion of her Father being somehow bested. "I know you have your spies." Nobody else would have filled in Tyrion, in his dusty office buried in the back of the finance department, on the intimate details of such a big-time deal. "What do these Tyrells want?"

"Basically, to bring in quite a few Highgarden Studios people to hold high offices at Lannister Broadcasting. Mace wants approval and veto power on a number of different types of deals that may come our way. I mean, it goes so far that he could tell our individual station presidents what to do in certain situations." Tyrion paused, and crinkled that ugly, crooked nose of his. "And this may sounds minor, but it's so odd it has to be significant: Margaery is to have a junior executive position at one of those stations."

" _I knew it_!" Cersei fumed. "I knew it from the moment Joffrey brought her into all of our lives, that girl would be nothing but trouble!"

"Do you think that's why she was interested in Joff?" Jaime questioned, an expression of the greatest naivete on his face, and Cersei's lip curled.

"It wouldn't surprise me at all! Who wouldn't want to attach themselves to _our_ family?"

Tyrion, as always, didn't know when to take a situation seriously, and shot Cersei another sardonic look as he threw in his own two cents.

"It's interesting that you think that Joffrey's own charms can't speak for themselves and win him a girlfriend, and instead you assume that his family connections and money must be responsible." He smiled at her goadingly. "Now, why would that be?"

"I never said that!" Cersei snapped. "Don't be an idiot. You have had personal experience with gold diggers. And you don't learn from the past, either." She smiled smugly at her dwarf brother. His face remained impassive, and she shrugged and changed the subject. "Sansa was an absolute idiot, of course, but at least she was more tractable."

"I saw both her and Margaery Tyrell- together- the other night. Bit of a curious thing they're still friends, isn't it?"

Cersei shrugged disinterestedly. "Not really. Sansa Stark's a pathetic soul." she laughed. "She either doesn't want to lose any of the very few friends she has left, regardless of whether or not one of them stole her boyfriend. Or, maybe she's not quite as hopeless and ignorant as we thought, and she's just staying friends with Margaery to keep tabs on Joffrey." She fell gracefully into a deck chair shrugged spaciously.

" _I_ never thought she was hopeless and ignorant. She must have been a little misguided, however, to have been interested in having a relationship with Joffrey."

"You never met her before the other night, did you?" Cersei snapped in response. "You truly go above and beyond in your attempts to be disloyal to this family, Tyrion. There is no reason in the world for you to take sides with that stupid Stark girl and insult your own nephew, though I suppose you've never needed a reason before to bully Joffrey, so why start now?"

Tyrion let out a snort of unpleasant laughter.

"For God's sake, Cersei, will you ever stop seeing things all ass backwards? _I'm_ the bully? _Joffrey's_ the victim? Ooo-kay," he said mockingly, thrusting his hands into his pockets and throwing Jaime a wink. Turning his attention back to Cersei, he prodded, "So you...weren't at that cocktail party Margaery had last night?"

_God, here was another one asking her about that stupid party!_

"Why would I want to go to Pasadena for that?" she scoffed.

Tyrion tilted his head back and rolled it around as if in exasperation. Cersei found herself wishing that it would just roll right off his shoulders.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because she's your favorite child's-"

"I don't have a favorite child," Cersei interrupted, tasting the lie on her tongue as the words left her mouth.

"Keep telling yourself that," Tyrion replied, with an intolerable small, smug grin. He then turned to Jaime. "Jaime, it's really ridiculous that I had to come all the way here for you. I've been trying to talk to you all day!" he exclaimed, sounding quite exasperated. "You weren't at the office, and you haven't been responding to my calls and texts. Is there a good reason for this? Did you somehow get wind of the latest developments ahead of me, and that's why you skipped the talk today and went M.I.A.? Have you been on a secret mission to nip this thing in the bud before it spiraled? Well, in that case, please tell me- how did it go? Because I gotta say, on my end, it looks like the Tyrells are gonna get what they want."

"The talk...that was today?" Jaime gaped. "Nobody told me."

"Hmm," murmured Tyrion musingly. "I'd thought the implication was there."

"Excuse me," Cersei said with quiet anger. "But why are you excluding me from all of this? It's my son who's been hooked by a girl from that horrible family!"

"A thousand pardons," said Tyrion, blatantly insincere, of course. "I'm sure you genuinely believe that you have a point, and for that I am sorry. But we're not speaking of publishing here, we're not talking about your magazines, we're talking about television, which I know has always appealed more to you because it's more glamorous and less wordy, but the fact remains that your son's dating life doesn't make you qualified to speak to the direction in which we take our family of television stations."

" _Family_! You just said it! That's how I'm qualified."

All the while, Jaime continued to look more like a confused, shaggy dog than a Lannister lion, with his head hanging forward a bit, hair flopping into his eyes.

"We'll all talk to her, before the meeting tomorrow," Tyrion stated. Cersei just looked at him, not pleased with his apparent intention of running this situation, which she saw in his greedy, mismatched eyes. "What, Cersei?" he asked with a hint of hostile laughter when he saw how she was looking at him. "It only makes sense. It may look a bit funny, all three of us showing up on her doorstep, but if one thing is true about Margaery, from everything I've learned, it's that she'll be helpless to do anything other than embrace such an opportunity to meet with so many of her new beau's relatives. She must be as eager to get in good with the family as she is to get into the company...yes, even if what you say is true, Cersei, she must be. Now, I'm not usually one to be inviting myself places...I've been told that for such a little man and not taking up much space, I sure do have a nasty habit of getting in the way." He grinned. "But I didn't invite myself on this Tyrell ambush without careful deliberation. I've been thinking very carefully about what I'd like to say to them, and I don't think either you or Jaime would be my ideal mouthpiece. This all does technically fall more under Jaime's dominion, but...you know." His eyes swept from Jaime to Cersei, and when she locked gazes with him, she saw what he didn't want to say about Jaime in this moment. He saw the same in her eyes, and they had a moment of vaguely unfriendly understanding.

Cersei's lips pursed; Tyrion taking this attitude was unfortunately nothing new. He had such disgusting pretensions to genius, regularly thinking that he was the only one who could solve problems. And Jaime, for all his lack of ambition, she would never accept as incompetent. She was always urging him to be more take-charge at work. She wanted success for him, while Tyrion, though he would have everyone believe he was devoted to Jaime, she knew must really be jealous of the brother who had been given everything he'd been denied, the way he seemed to enable his sloth and pleasure-seeking.

She didn't trust Tyrion, but she had to admit that he wouldn't want the Tyrells taking over, either. Now matter how she thought about it, she couldn't make rounding up all of Tywin's Lannisters kids to protect his legacy sound like a completely bad idea.

She still felt like lobbing something insulting at him for his arrogance and slight to Jaime, but closed her mouth with a snap, without uttering a word. He wasn't worth her energy right now. That must be preserved for other things, but then Tyrion had to go and test her resolve by saying,

"Well, now, I think this is a very good plan. Of course, it requires getting up very early to get to Margaery's...and us all arriving there together. Perhaps you would a cool enough big sister to let me stay here tonight. If Jaime plans to do so well," he smiled a lecherous smile, "then we're all assembled and ready to head off at first light, aren't we?"

Cersei's hands and toes clenched into fists and she opened her mouth again to spit out a refusal.

"I'll take him to my place," Jaime volunteered, and Tyrion slapped him on the back in thanks. "And then we'll meet back here tomorrow, and go take care of all this together. What do you think- 10 o'clock okay for everybody?"

"Absolutely not," replied Cersei crisply. "We can't take any chances with traffic, or with the Tyrell girl. We'll meet here at..." She thought about it briefly. "...7 a.m."

Jaime and Tyrion's shoulders both sagged and they both groaned in unison, but Tyrion then looked at her with a resolved expression and nodded.

"Okay. That does make sense."

"Fine. It's a plan, then," Cersei conceded, and got up to head back inside the house, leaving Jaime to deal with Tyrion.

_To be continued..._

 


	4. Maragery 1

**I'm SO sorry for the long wait for an update! I have no real excuse, other than life happened.**

 

**Disclaimer: Because I forgot to do this before... This disclaimer covers both the previous chapters, this chapter, and the story as a whole. I am making no profit from this story. I am not George R.R. Martin (he hates fanfic, remember?), and I own no part of the A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones series and/or franchise. I intend no copyright infringement.**

 

_**Margaery** _

 

"I like that ensemble."

Margaery nearly dropped the sack of coffee beans she was carrying over to the coffee grinder when she heard a voice behind her.

"Oh!" she cried out, jumping, her head hastening to peak over her shoulder at the newcomer to the room. She then let out a giggle. "Grandmother! You startled me!"

"Well, you know how I like to take people by surprise," said Olenna Tyrell, padding into the room on rose-colored fuzzy-slippered feet. She had a seat at the kitchen island, spry enough to hop up onto one of the barstools even at past eighty years. She drummed her French manicure on the marble countertop, and waited until the coffee grinder had finished pulsing to address Marg again.

"Has Joffrey seen you in that one yet?"

Margaery blushed despite herself. She was used to discussing private things with her grandmother, and answered quite placidly, "We haven't slept together yet."

Olenna's looked at her knowingly and nodded her approval. "Good girl. With that one, it won't do to give it away too soon."

As Margaery adjusted the sheer black robe on her shoulder and poured water into the coffee maker, her grandmother gave her further advice.

"That doesn't mean that you can't someday answer the door in that enchanting little outfit, though. Le Pearla's?"

Margaery nodded, and, having gotten the coffee brewing, made her way over to the refrigerator to fetch the pastries she knew her grandmother would be wanting. She was puzzled, though, and as she sat the bakery box in front of the old woman, she remarked, with a touch of amusement,

"Answer the door like this? What, am I just supposed to start staying in my pajamas all day? Joffrey never comes and visits me in the morning, and I think...I think..." She paused, honestly contemplating the scenario, before carrying on as her instincts had encouraged her to in the first place. "I think he would call before he did. At this stage, at least." She bent and lifted the lid off the box, as her grandmother leaned expectantly forward. A hank of brown curls fell over Marg's eye, and she impatiently pushed it aside as she continued, "So if he calls, that gives me time to change. If I don't, isn't that a little weird? And if he shows up unexpectedly sometime at four in the afternoon, and I'm still in these..." she gestured at what she was wearing "...isn't that a little weird, too?"

"Not necessarily," stated Olenna, selecting a cheese Danish from amongst the rolls.

Before she could go on, Margaery pointed at her grandmother's breakfast. "Now, the fridge might be the right place for the cheese ones, but Lucy still says that we shouldn't keep bread products in the refrigerator."

Olenna huffed. "And I still say I'm not about to take advice from Lucy about this. I'm twice Lucy's age, and I think I know how to store my pastries and rolls. The young- not that Lucy's exactly _that_ \- may have some things to teach the old about the way the world works today, but I'm quite sure the way to store bread products isn't one of those things that have changed."

Marg grinned at her grandmother's feistiness.

"But we were talking about your plan to hook that Baratheon boy," Olenna went on, changing the topic back to the original one. Margaery had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from yet again asking her grandmother to stop talking about her relationship with Joffrey in such a...tactless way. No effort to try and reign in The Queen of Thorns had ever worked, to Marg's knowledge. And the plucky old woman would refer to Margaery's pursuit of Joffrey Baratheon exactly the way she saw it.

"Let's talk lingerie strategy later," is what Marg did end up saying, closing the box of pastries and tapping her nails on top of the lid. "Today's mission is the meeting."

"Today's meeting," said Olenna imperiously, tearing off a bite-size piece of her cheese danish, " is a lock." She popped a hunk of pastry into her mouth, and the coffee pot sounded. Margaery turned away to pour them each a cup.

"I'm glad you think so," she said carefully, taking heart from her grandmother's confidence, but at the same time wondering if the old woman indeed spoke truly. She knew Tywin Lannister wanted Tyrell money, but that didn't mean the original agreement was absolutely still a-go. Maybe it never had been in the first place. Maybe it had simply been a tactic to open the door for further conversation, so that Team Tyrell could be talked down from their original demands while the Lannisters found some underhanded way to get the better of them.

_No, we're smarter than that_ , thought Margaery to herself, flipping her hair over her shoulder before grabbing both steaming mugs of coffee and carrying them over to the island. _Quit acting like such an amateur, Marg. Stop being so afraid. There's having forethought and planning for the unexpected, and then there's being paranoid like Cersei Lannister._

That reminded her...

She turned to her grandmother and said, "You know, I designed a piece of jewelry especially for Cersei Lannister: I wonder if I should give it to her today?"

"What? At the start of the meeting, to soften her up, or afterward, to _kindly_ console her?" Olenna smirked. "You're a shrewd girl, Margaery. Wait until afterward." She patted Marg on the hand. "A gift before you've gained admission will leave the lions thinking they smell a limping gazelle."

Margaery tossed her head back and gave a heartfelt laugh. "No worries; they'll be smelling nothing but roses, Grandmother. I'm going to wait to give it to her until after the meeting." _No matter how it goes?_ Margaery shook her head as if to clear it. "Definitely more consolation prize than peace offering." She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. "I may be the girlfriend who would like to avoid being tormented by the boyfriend's mother, but I'm not _stupid_."

"You're a good girl, a clever girl." Her grandmother got down from her seat. "It wouldn't hurt to make another piece for that Stark girl, either."

Margaery bowed her head as a slight stirring of guilt occurred in her stomach.

"I don't think...Sansa's forgiveness is for sale, grandmother," she said softly.

She felt Olenna pat her on the back as the Queen of Thorns passed her on her way over to the juicer at the far end of the counter.

"You know...oddly enough, I think you're right." She guffawed. "When I was younger, I always believed that most people had their price- with a few exceptions. But we were talking about change just a minute ago. And times _have_ changed, and now I believe that _more_ than most people have their price. It's always a bit startling when someone like Sansa shows up, and she's got such...oh, what was it called again?" Olenna feigned an attitude of ignorance as she leaned on the counter, tapping her shin with a soft, old wrinkled finger. "It's gone so much out of fashion that I can't remember the name," she claimed with a sardonic little smile. "Ah! That's right!"

Margaery got into the act by holding a finger up above her head to represent a lightbulb going off as she mirrored her grandmother's look of sudden recollection.

"Integrity!" Olenna Tyrell finished with a satisfied smile.

"Wow, everybody's up early."

It was like by talking about her enough, they'd made her appear.

Luckily, when she did appear in the kitchen doorway, she appeared bleary-eyed and yawning, and gave no indication that she'd heard anything of what Margaery and her grandmother had been discussing.

"Not everybody, my dear," Olenna said. "Lucy hasn't made it out of bed yet. That's okay, it being only..." she craned her neck to see the clock on the wall "...a quarter after six, but it does mean that if you want to eat now, a cold breakfast awaits you." She nudged the box of pastries towards the edge of the counter, closer to Sansa. "These are really pretty good, however."

"Oh..." said Sansa, stretching, her face crinkled in thought, as if Margaery's grandmother had just said something rather complicated to her. She was still clearly in the grips of a morning fog. Margaery smiled softly into her coffee cup, feeling a little sad. Sansa just had this fundamental...innocence about her. Sansa may be twenty-two, very beautiful, and in no way the owner of a little girl's figure, but it was all too easy to picture her with a stuffed toy- perhaps something like a floppy-eared rabbit- under her arm right now. Of course, Sansa did not wear lingerie to bed, but even her gray and black checkered cotton button-down pajama top and matching bottoms weren't all that juvenile. A little drab, maybe.

"Oh," said Sansa, seemingly acclimating to the waking world, "if you don't mind, though, Olenna...Margaery...I do know how to cook a little. I'm at least, you know, more than capable of making eggs and toast." She gave a little chuckle. "Actually, pancakes would be even better..."

"If you'd really like to," Margaery said hurriedly. "But since you're up, maybe you wouldn't mind eating and running with me to a yoga class? I've always wanted to bring a friend- the girls in that class can be soooo clique-y sometimes, you know?" She rolled her eyes. "Peace and love, my ass," she joked. She wasn't telling the exact truth about her yoga studio: some of the girls were sort of clique-y, but more in the sense that they'd grativated toward the other girls they most got along with, hardly an unnatural thing. Margaery, for her part, had always been something of a clique floater, going from one to the next. She didn't need Sansa there to be a comforting presence, but she wanted to do something with "that Stark girl" before the meeting, and Marg felt like getting out of the house and getting energized.

She wanted that energy for the meeting, and for the conversation she was planning on having with Sansa some time today.

"Um, I don't know... How long is yoga going to take?" asked her redheaded friend. "Will I still have time to get to my first class?"

"Well, yoga's the best first class of the day you can have!" Margaery declared perkily. "It lasts an hour, but..."

Sansa was already calculating, she could see it in those sky blue eyes. "That's cutting it close. An hour? Does it start at seven?" asked the Stark girl, looking toward the clock on the kitchen wall. "And then I'd have to come back here get my stuff-"

Sansa's "stuff"- her school stuff and some of her clothing- was now at Margaery's place, Marg having sent one of the cousins who was also her assistant to Sansa's modest little Los Angeles apartment to collect it. Sansa had woken up on Sunday morning at Marg's all intent to go home again, but it had only taken some quality "bestie" time with lunch and mani/pedis that afternoon and some cajoling her to be a guest at the garden party that evening for Sansa to agree to another night, with the condition that those things she deemed necessary for another overnight stay and for the next morning's classes could also be brought under the Tyrell roof.

Margaery cut her off with a smile. "Let me stop you right there. We'll just take what you need with us! Get your clothes and your books and bring them along. The studio doesn't have a locker room, but you can change at school. The class is only forty-five minutes. Besides all that, it's about halfway between here and UCLA. You definitely have time."

Sansa still looked thoughtful, but practically swayed. "Yoga? Well, is it an intermediate class, or... I've never done yoga before." She took a seat next to Marg's grandmother at the kitchen island and reached out for the box of pastries. "Oh, you have lemon!" she exclaimed, smiling.

Margaery let out a sweeping gale of affectionate laughter. "Only you Sansa, would be a complete yoga novice in this day and age."

"Yes, only you," added Olenna, with a twinkle in her eye. She tapped Sansa playfully on the arm. "Even I've done it, my child. If I can do it, you can do it."

Sansa giggled, though if anything, she looked a little less convinced now, for which Marg didn't blame her.

Still, after taking a moment to look back and forth between them, Sansa acquiesced. She took a bite of her lemon roll and after she finished chewing, she nodded and offered a smile.

"Alright. Why not?

They all finished their breakfast, such as it was, and then the girls went to change. Sansa hadn't brought her workout clothes, so Margaery let her borrow a pair of Lululemons. Worn by the Stark girl, they were now cropped pants, but otherwise fit fine, although Sansa frowned a bit at the intentionally snug fit. Margaery put on one of her favorite belly-baring exercise tops that wicked away the moisture, while Sansa insisted she was fine in a basic T-shirt she had brought. It was probably from Target, Sansa's wardrobe being the curious mix of high-and-low that it now was since the deaths of her parents.

Olenna met them in the hall and she played good hostess and helped them get ready to leave, thanking Sansa for staying with them, offering to help her carry things, and escorting them out to the car. Margaery and her grandmother exchanged a look and during the process of getting them packed into the car, Olenna surreptitiously removed the Art Appreciation textbook that she had just helped place in the trunk. It was Sansa's first class of the day, just to make absolutely sure she would have to return to the house _right after yoga_.

Sansa being Sansa wouldn't want to blow off even that easy A class.

This kind of subterfuge, enacted at the expense of the girl who had been the truest friend Margaery had ever known, made the brunette get a little twist of guilt in her stomach.

She had no choice, however. If only Sansa had simply overslept this morning! Since Margaery didn't want to take the risk of leaving Sansa alone to hear the news after it hit the internet and social media (as there was no small chance it would, following this meeting), the only logical answer was to not let Sansa out of her sight.

~*~

Sansa was the best newcomer to yoga that Margaery had ever seen. The leggy redhead had a remarkable grace. Sansa was on the taller side, and a person might expect somebody like that to be a little awkward, but she was a natural.

"You were amazing in there, Sansa," Margaery told her friend, with a playful nudge to her side as the two departed the studio, rolled up mats tucked beneath their underarms.

Sansa smiled modestly, but her eyes danced, and she responded,

"Well, maybe I managed to retain some of the balance I had back when I took ballet. Isn't that funny? I think I had my last lesson when I was thirteen."

They were standing by Margaery's BMW, and Sansa asked if she could put her mat in the trunk and get her books and the bag with her clothes in it out. Marg couldn't do anything but agree, even knowing what Sansa would likely discover. She watched her friend collect her books into her arms.

"One...two...three... Wait. There are supposed to be four... Marg!" Sansa stared at her plaintively, obviously upset. "It was all for nothing. Now we have to go back, anyway," she said despairingly.

Yes, they did, and Margaery tapped her nails pensively against the steering wheel after they climbed into the car. The drive to the house was too long for Sansa, and too short for Margaery, as she attempted to determine just when she should open her mouth.

They made it all the way back without Marg broaching the subject. They parked and got out of the car and walked into the house, and she was tense and quiet, rather unlike herself. Sansa even noticed, giving her friend a few curious looks in between the stream of friendly but anxious chitchat the redhead had probably been keeping up to distract herself from focusing too much on being late for class.

"Professor Mordane- I told you about her, right? She teaches gender studies? Well, she assigned this essay where we talk about one thing we do that's conventional for our gender and one thing that's not and if and how each has affected our lives. Like, for example, for the 'conventional' thing, I'm writing about how I like to sew. I thought that would be more original, you know, since most of the girls are just writing about how they wear makeup or care about fashion. But I don't know what I'm going to put for my tomboy activity. If only this were Arya's assignment!" Sansa giggled affectionately. ""Of course, if it were _Arya's_ assignment, what would she put for the girly thing? That she might have worn lipgloss once? I think? I miss her. I never see her since she joined the Merchant Marines."

While Sansa was talking a mile a minute, Margaery found her inner monologue going a mile a minute, too.

_Sansa, you know that meeting I'm going to now? Well, it's to do with an enormously significant deal we're trying to do with Lannister Broadcasting. This is, like, a biggest-of-the-big-time merger. It's going to be all over the news... Well, even if you don't pay attention to business news, you're probably going to hear about some other stuff...about me. The kind of stuff that will be in the gossip blogs. The kind of stuff some people at school might be talking about. I'll be getting a new job, and they'll be talking about **why** I got it..._

All too soon and before Margaery had found the right words to use, Sansa had collected the errant book while Marg mentally was disappointed in her grandmother for not thinking to hide it instead of merely taking it away. Sansa was able to locate it as speedily anything, sitting on the vanity of the guest room she'd been using.

"Although for the life of me, I don't remember putting any books over there," she said contemplatively as she and Marg descended the stairs and arrived in the front hall of the house. They'd left the door open, and right away, Margaery saw something outside which she did not like. She legitimately almost gasped, her heart stuttering in her chest.

Her first impulse was to call for her grandmother to intervene and play charming yet sharp-tongued mediator, but then she remembered that Olenna had mentioned wanting to go to the office before the meeting. It was somewhat early for her to have left, but just like the little old lady to devote herself thoroughly to any last-minute prep work.

There was a car in the driveway, pulled up quite near to the house. Margaery didn't recognize this car, but she recognized the people sitting in it. Marg moved forward almost in a daze and stopped in the doorway. The people in the car saw her looking, and she saw them exchange amused smiles when they saw how the girls were dressed. One of the people in the car started getting out.

Great. The Lannisters were going to render all her Sansa plans moot.

"Cersei! Heeey, what a surprise!" Margaery forced her voice to come out warm and welcoming, though she was unsettled by the woman's sudden appearance at her house, with Joffrey nowhere in sight. She felt Sansa's hands grip her shoulders from behind as the girl just managed to not run into her, and Marg just managed not to jump in shock at suddenly being grabbed. She made her smile beam brighter, so as to soften her next words. "What are you doing here?"

Behind her, Sansa let out a little gasp.

Cersei's gaze flickered to the redhead, and her lips formed a cold little smile. Then she looked back to Margaery and said, "Hello, Margaery. I just stopped by to invite you to breakfast. I thought it was about time we got to know one another."

Margaery nodded to the gun metal gray Lexus at the top of the circular drive. "And with your brothers, too? I can see them waiting in the car. Oh, wow!" She giggled. "That's a lot of pressure, all of you at once. But..." boldly she moved down the steps to where Cersei stood, and grasped her forearm. "So, so honored, obviously."

She glanced over her shoulder at her friend before giving Cersei a polite smile of denial. "But I can't. Sansa's here. We had a couple of pastries before yoga-"

Cersei smirked. "You ate before yoga?"

Margaery laughed. "I never understood that rule. Do you? Is it so you don't get an upset stomach? Well, we didn't eat that much," she chattered busily, as if happily. "Or is it supposed to be easier to lose weight if you work out on an empty stomach? Well, we're not really focused on losing weight."

"One of the many benefits of youth," Cersei asserted solemnly. "But watch out, girls." She grinned and arched a brow. "The tide will turn eventually. But since you're currently two growing girls with fast metabolisms, I don't think 'a couple of pastries' sounds like a very satisfactory breakfast, so..." She tipped the sunglasses she was wearing down over her nose. "why not breakfast with us?"

Margaery looked to Sansa, who looked bewildered. The redhead mouthed a single word at Margaery, which appeared to be _why_. Of course, there was no explaining that now. Marg felt rather at a loss, but she couldn't let that show.

She had to take control, as much as possible. It was the easiest and the best way. Efficiency and confidence might allow her to be evasive.

"What a great idea! That's so nice of you to invite..." And Marg trailed off, unsure if the invitation extended to Sansa, as well, and hoping it didn't.

"Well, _of course_ Sansa can come, too!" replied Cersei Lannister with her patented brand of frosty glee, pearly whites baring for a second in a predatory flash.

"She...she _has_ to," Marg found herself saying, as she felt Sansa's eyes boring holes into her. Her mouth was suddenly somewhat dry, but she ignored that, lips stretching into an uneasy smile. Turning and moving back up a couple steps, her hand found Sansa's elbow. "What do you say?"

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Cersei, grinning viciously. She turned to head back to the car, jerking her head in an imperious upward motion at her brothers waiting therein, signaling Marg and Sansa's compliance.

Sansa's compliance, though, seemed less assured when she pulled back, resisting Margaery as the brunette tried to lead her down the drive.

"What's going on, Marg?" Sansa asked in a high-pitched hiss, as Margaery wondered about that question herself. "You can't really expect me to come with you! I...I have school."

"Sansa, you're smart, you're not going to fall behind," said Margaery, sounding significantly more dismissive than she meant to. But she couldn't let Sansa go. She still didn't want Sansa to find out about her and Joffrey from the media later: even hearing it in front of the Lannisters was better, as long as Margaery was the one to tell her. Besides that, though, Marg realized she wanted Sansa's support. The support of a friend and ally.

The Lannisters had ambushed her and issued her a challenge. She couldn't back down; she had to go. But why must she go into the lion's den friendless?

Sansa, Margaery's grip still on her arm, pulled forward and stepped in front of the brunette.

"Give me your car, let me take it to school." It was phrased like a demand, but her gaze was soft and vulnerable, making it more like a plea.

"I thought your license expired."

"I don't care!" Her outburst was still whispered, and Margaery knew better than to take her statement seriously.

Gently, Marg went into her explanation, given that there was no putting it off anymore.

"You know I'm a friend of Joff's, right?"

"How could I forget?" asked Sansa, a little resentfully.

Margaery smiled softly. "Sansa...you know how much I care about you..."

And she did, she really did care. When they'd first met, she'd gotten a kick out having found a genuine 'good girl'. She'd never met a girl born to privilege who had seemed so completely without guile, so generally ignorant about and uninterested in the most current ways to party, so polite to a fault, so sunny and idealistic.

And yet Marg couldn't help but watch the Stark girl with some resentment, thinking about how typical it was that the conservative girl from an old money family with a storied reputation was the one dating the most eligible bachelor in school. Margaery's pedigree was impressive, and lots of her schoolmates asked- jokingly or not- about breaking into show business, but the Starks were another thing entirely, and Margaery longed to be more than the pretty girl who made pretty jewelry.

Transplants from somewhere in Oregon, the Starks moved so that Ned Stark could take a teaching position in Los Angeles, apparently at the behest of Robert Baratheon, then the mayor in addition to being president and CEO of Baratheon Publishing (who, back then, were still printing textbooks.) From what Marg knew of the late Mr. Baratheon from Sansa and from Joff, he hadn't exactly been a real intellectual, but he'd roared during a visit to the Starks about how the school board wouldn't get off him about finding the best man for the job.

Ned had been a beloved middle school teacher who then ran for school board and won. He and his wife were both impressive people. His marriage had united academia and business sense with more business strength, along with glamour. Catelynn had been a former high fashion model and heiress to the second-most-popular fish products company to Van de Kamp's. They'd appeared to have it all- until Ned, Cat, and their oldest, Robb, had all perished in a car accident on the way to Robert Baratheon's funeral.

It didn't take long for Marg to genuinely warm up to Sansa, besides just wanting to hang out with her to gain credibility. Still, they weren't close friends right away. They had been assigned to each other as roommates, and it hadn't been in either one to not be polite to the other. Sansa, though, was more of the quiet-night-in variety, and, suffering through a relationship going bad and a family situation becoming destabilized, she wasn't trusting. It had been slow going to earn her friendship.

But now...

"Sansa, things have changed a bit between Joffrey and me lately. In fact, we're...well, we're kind of a couple. I didn't plan for this to happen, but it just sort of slowly evolved from us being friends. It's all very new, but I care about him a lot and I really want his family to approve of me. I'm just so nervous being around them, and it would mean the world to me if you could just go to breakfast with us."

As she spoke, she watched with a pang of regret as Sansa's big baby blues grew wider and wider and more pained.

" _What?_ Margaery, what are you saying? What-whatever, you know I can't..." She dropped her voice even further, her pupils flicking back and forth between Margaery and the Lannisters. "You know I can't be around those people."

Margaery sighed. This was proving even more difficult than she expected.

"Sansa, I know it's hard for you," she spoke rapidly but not unkindly, holding onto her friend's forearm and trying to urge the redhead to walk with her toward the Lannister car. "Please just put up with it for me, though?"

Their conversation was interrupted by Jaime Lannister honking the horn and sticking his head out the window, yellow gold hair flopping around attractively with the movement and aiming that infamously charming, killer smile at them.

"Girls, c'mon! We gotta hustle! Power breakfast for power players! We wanna make the meeting in time, don't we?"

"We're coming!" Margaery called back to him, and, putting an arm around Sansa's waist, steered her flustered friend closer to the vehicle, gently but firmly pulling her along.

Sansa mouthed, 'What are you doing?' at her angrily.

Margaery opened the back door and gestured for her friend to get in first. Sansa peered at her cautiously, then slinked slowly forward like she expected to be heading into a trap.

Margaery got in after her, and, after shutting the door, was greeted with a cheerful, "And hello to you, too, Marg!" from Tyrion Lannister. Margaery looked over at the little man, who grinned at her broadly. Sansa, by contrast, was looking incredibly uncomfortable, the poor girl, with her limbs pulled in as protectively tight against her body as she could.

"Hi, Tyrion," Margaery smiled back, then took Sansa's hand and squeezed it. "Where are we going?" she excitedly asked the two people sitting up front. _Her boyfriend's parents, although she didn't dare refer to them as that. Officially, one was her boyfriend's parent, singular. The other was his uncle._

Jaime gave a broad shrug and smiled at her over his shoulder from his position in the driver's seat.

"Oh, well, Margaery, we thought we'd let you pick," he said in a supremely relaxed way, starting the engine.

She didn't answer for a long time, choosing a restaurant requiring more thought than she could spare at the moment, when all her thoughts were eaten up with the upcoming meeting, and Sansa, too. Thus, they pulled out of her comparatively long driveway in total silence.

~*~

After driving around for a while, they wound up choosing a diner almost at random, one no one had ever tried before. They sat smushed into a booth, waiting on hearty and humble breakfasts, the Lannisters smug in their fine clothing, and Margaery and Sansa somewhat less happy in their yoga attire.

It might almost have been worth it, to watch Tyrion blatantly ogling Sansa's ass as she climbed into the booth. Margaery had thought she's seen a spark of interest in that impish man's eyes when he'd been looking at Sansa at The Maidenvault, and it was amusing to think how her friend might react should Tyrion attempt to get something going with the redhead. But that was extremely unlikely. Tyrion already had a girlfriend, who was also a gorgeous woman, and she was so...so...free-spirited. Margaery smirked to herself. Shae was much more Tyrion's speed.

"You shouldn't have insisted I order something," Sansa said, breaking the most recent silence of many which had fallen upon the party since the car. "I'm not very hungry at all." She sounded slightly hostile, and Margaery was rather proud of her.

Cersei, to whom she had apparently been directing that comment, merely smiled, not nettled in the least.

"You shouldn't have given in, sweetie. We were hardly strong-arming you. We just didn't want you to get jealous when you saw what we had."

"Don't worry, Sansa," said Tyrion with a kind smile. "I'll help you out, if there's too much for you to eat." He winked. "I've got a surprisingly large appetite for such a little man."

Jaime Lannister snorted. "Mmm, in more ways than one," he said into the rim of his coffee cup.

"I was speaking of food," replied his brother lightly, taking a slow sip of water.

Sansa's eyes flickered around to each of her fellow diners in startled uncertainty and even more mistrust before shooting downward in embarrassment. After a moment, she raised her gaze again, as well as her chin.

"Thank you," she finally managed to tell Tyrion, with a weak smile.

"Not really a hardship to me," Tyrion grinned back.

"Cersei, what lovely pearls!" said Marg, smiling over at the blond woman who sat directly across from her.

"Thank you, they belonged to my mother," replied Cersei, stiffly as she always did whenever Marg tried to be friendly to her. Honestly, the woman was so predictable. However, the way her hand immediately came up to finger the necklace affectionately showed that she'd actually been somewhat pleased by the compliment, Margaery thought.

"Our mother," said Tyrion, smacking his lips and exhaling after taking a sip of hot coffee. "So that's the necklace, Cece? Very elegant. I think Jaime has given you a few pearl necklaces, too, hasn't he?" One corner of his mouth quirked devilishly as he peered up at his brother.

"My stepsister is very hard to buy for." Jaime parried the sneak attack smoothly, without making eye contact with any of them. "But I've realized that she never turns down jewelry."

"With your hair and complexion, you would also look lovely in a necklace with amber in it," Marg offered, trying to get past Tyrion's innuendo. "Ooo! I know! And maybe with some garnets, so the colors would match your logo for Lannister Broadcasting."

"My father- our father," Cersei looked around at her siblings with an eye roll, "already beat you to the idea. When I graduated from high school, he gave me a fantastic and grotesquely expensive gold and ruby necklace."

"Now, though," piped in Tyrion, "I do believe it would be more appropriate for Cersei to have some black and gold jewelry, to represent the logo for Baratheon Publishing, if we're so into this idea of our identities being wrapped up in our jobs or the legacies left to us. Cersei will get a piece of the Lannister pie when our father dies, of course, but she has no official stake in the company now and holds no titles there."

"Are you honestly trying to say you're more of a Lannister than me?" his sister demanded. Yes, demanded. Her voice affected lightness, but Margaery wasn't fooled. The woman was way to quick to get her claws out. To herself, Marg shook her head.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make your party the other day, dear," said Cersei, drawing Margaery out of her reflections. Marg smiled pleasantly back, all the while thinking how wrong such a pet name directed at her sounded coming from Cersei. It wasn't just that the blond woman obviously disliked her, though that was a part of it. It was that there was nothing whatsoever maternal or soft about Cersei Lannister.

"Me, too," Margaery smiled back, and then was interrupted from saying anything more by the arrival of their food.

She pushed around her scrambled eggs disinterestedly as she watched Tyrion's mismatched eyes travel from the plate of hash browns and sausage placed before him to the plate put in front of Sansa.

"Banana pancakes! Thank you, Sansa."

Sansa chuckled softly. "You're welcome, Tyrion," she said, pushing her plate toward him and giving him two large pancakes off her stack of three.

It was a short stack, and Jaime and Tyrion both made good-natured jokes about that as Sansa looked slightly embarrassed and giggled nervously.

"I may still eat this one," she said, doing her best, Margaery could tell, to put a pleasant face on. "And my fruit. So don't you touch the rest of my plate, even though I'm about to leave it unguarded."

Tyrion gasped. "You're about to leave your pancakes unguarded around a scoundrel like me?"

"You're not the worst scoundrel I've ever met," said Sansa in a low voice, and Margaery just about dropped her fork.

"Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."

"Oh!" exclaimed Marg, and was right behind her out of the booth. "Girls' trip! Maybe I'll just throw on some mascara- I have some in my purse." She turned and threw a smile over her shoulder at Cersei.

_It might not do me much good, but at least I have something, you bitch._

In the bathroom, Sansa threw her purse down on the sink and stood back with her head bowed and buried in her hands. Margaery stood back and surveyed her for a moment. She felt kind of like adopting Sansa's pose, herself. This situation was totally frustrating her, as well. This whole morning so far had been about tricky maneuvering.

"Do you think I'm honestly one hundred percent happy about this?" Margaery sighed in exasperation. She stamped her Tory Burch ballet flat against the floor and listlessly pushed that same old lock of hair back behind her ear.

Sansa was biting her lower lip, waiting for Margaery to elaborate.

"You sure seemed like it."

Margaery shook her head. "They're trying to undermine me," she said. "Coming to collect me, knowing I couldn't refuse, and...the meeting, Sansa! They're keeping me here so I don't have time to get ready for it. Yoga pants!" she hissed, and pointed at her Lululemons. "They're seeing to it that I show up to a business meeting like this! Surely you can see how they're trying to make me look the fool."

"You? Look like a fool?" From the expression on Sansa's face, it was plain that she hadn't even considered that the Lannisters had come to be anything other than friendly to Margaery.

"They don't...like me, Sansa." This was something over which Margaery felt more annoyance and frustration than sadness, but she tried to sound like her feelings had been hurt to gain Sansa's sympathy. "At least Cersei doesn't." She gave a wry little laugh.

"Cersei hates everybody," said Sansa, and Marg couldn't help but softly smile at her astuteness.

"But it's not just that- the Lannisters don't like my family, they don't want us to have anything we want, they're trying to disparage us," continued Margaery, walking forward and standing in front of the sink next to Sansa's. She leaned over it slightly, looking into the mirror as she took her mascara from her purse. As she worked on framing her round, brown eyes with longer, darker lashes, she continued to try to gain Sansa's support.

"I understand if maybe you don't care..." she said, trailing off in an unassuming way.

"What is their plan?" Sansa abruptly asked, and Margaery's hand fell to her side, and the brunette looked at her redheaded friend. "They couldn't have shown up _knowing_ you'd be in yoga pants, right? So they couldn't have planned to disparage you by making you show up to the meeting dressed that way."

Margaery paused. "Well, no... That was just their good luck..." She felt her heart rate tick up slightly. What was happening? She knew this was serious, that the Lannisters swooping in to carry her off prior to the meeting about the merger had been done with malicious intent. It was true, though, that they couldn't have planned on catching her in her workout wear. It was just feasible- though not really probable- that they _might_ have known Sansa was with Margaery. That, however, wasn't something they could use to advantage in the upcoming merger talk.

On the contrary, it had been the only thing about this that Marg had counted to her advantage- simple, unassuming Sansa.

Their method, then, had just been to throw her off her game and... What else? Maybe there was something particular that they wanted to say to her. They thought maybe they could talk her into swinging the talks _their_ way...

At the next sink over, Sansa splashed some water on her face. Margaery felt like that water was hitting her own face, waking her up. She resumed putting on her mascara.

"Either they really do like you," said Sansa, raising her head, little droplets of water rolling off her face like teardrops, "or they're trying to intimidate you."

Marg gave a resolute nod to her reflection as she finished up her eyes. "Or, door number three, they are going to try a different kind of mind fuck than intimidation: they're going to attempt to convince me to willingly let go of what I've practically already been given. They want to talk me out of going after some part of our deal by making me believe it's in my best interest."

"Well," said Sansa with a slight grin. "Whatever they say, you just say no."

"Margaery, dear," said Cersei, as soon as they got back to the table. "Are you looking forward to being a T.V. star? You could become one of those famous pitch people! Like the Dyson vacuum guy!" she chirruped, smiling relentlessly. "Only..." she drawled thoughtfully, "hopefully less sucky." She crinkled her nose and gave what was obviously supposed to pass for a lighthearted, chummy laugh. Marg shared it with her, but as she looked into her boyfriend's mother's eyes, she saw the hard, dangerous edge in them.

"Well," chuckled Margaery, sliding back into the booth, Sansa climbing in after her, "I wasn't thinking of being a 'T.V. star' in that respect. But I certainly want to make my mark in the television industry."

"It's not nearly as glamorous as most people think, you know," put in Jaime Lannister, idly rolling his coffee stirrer wrapper between his fingertips.

"He's right...my dear," Tyrion said, mimicking his sister's words with a glimmer in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. "This is an...interesting move for your apparent career trajectory, to say the least."

"And what is my 'apparent career trajectory'?" asked Margaery, after swallowing down her first forkful of now-cold eggs. She laughed. "I wasn't aware I had limited myself to a path of no return and that I couldn't try new things."

Margaery liked Tyrion; even a "reformed" Joffrey still complained about and put down his dwarf uncle, and Marg had a feeling she might have a thin line to walk there, remaining neutral without pissing Joffrey off. Yes, she liked Tyrion, even having met him only once before today, but just now, at this table, he was her adversary. He wanted to screw her over, basically.

"No, of course not," replied Tyrion pleasantly. "We should all try new things. Of course, not all new things are created equal. They're not all equally suited to everyone, and timing is obviously crucial when undertaking a new venture. There's a certain degree- often a high degree, I would think- of strategy involved when deciding the what, how, and why behind each new career move for such a successful and ambitious young woman."

Smiling, Marg informed Tyrion, "I've been fascinated by film and television from an early age. It runs in my blood. You may argue that Lannister Broadcasting is not glamorous, but that's okay; I don't need glamorous. I get enough shiny objects in my jewelry career- I'm not simply after everything that glitters. Trust me, I have strategized over my decision, Tyrion. Now seems like the right time to introduce myself to a field I've always been curious about; when my other career's in a place that's just where I want it for now."

"For now," echoed Tyrion pensively. "But what about the wide view of things?"

Though she could see more words- always more words with that one!- perched on the edge of his tongue waiting to spill out, Margaery was proactive about interrupting Tyrion, cutting him off just as he meant to keep speaking.

"What about it? Going after a childhood dream could be considered taking a very wide view, and Tyrion, I know better than to think that you're being condescending here, but I'm beginning to feel a bit like you are. What is the reason you don't want me at Lannister Broadcasting?"

"The reason?" The little Lannister lion sipped his coffee and sawed into his last little bit of syrup-sopped pancake. "Margaery, you must not imagine that there is a personal reason."

Marg raised both her eyebrows and smirked. "I didn't go there."

"What I'm saying here," said Tyrion, and he waved at his brother and sister with a fork, "what I think we're all saying, is we have the strongest motivation for wanting to see that those who join the company are the right fit. In asking my questions, I am looking out for you, yes, as a courtesy, and I'm sorry if you find it condescending, when I only mean to be friendly. But I'm also looking out for Lannister Broadcasting, as I have every right to do. And so, I have a suggestion for you- that if you are to join the family, so to speak, you consider the...prudence of a good faith gesture."

"Do you want me to...bribe my way into the company your board of directors, including your father, is apparently already okay with me joining?" Marg asked, lip twitching as much in confusion as from incredulous amusement at the notion.

"Not a bribe!" exclaimed Tyrion, his voiced full of mock horror. "Where did you hear that the Lannisters traffick in dishonesty and greed? No, all I mean is that if you decide you want to put other pursuits on the back burner....if you decide you want to turn into a stressed-out mess who constantly has to prove herself in the demanding and oft-mistreated position of junior executive and shill on a shopping channel... If you decide you want these things, you may wish to...make a gracious entrance by not appearing in the midst of a major shakeup. You know what they say about a marriage made in haste. Perhaps you could put in a word with your people for a more gradual merger?"

"Perhaps I could, Tyrion but I definitely won't," said Margaery flatly. She laughed and leaned back in her seat, adopting her usual easygoing air again, not wanting to make enemies. Or at least not of Tyrion. Or at least not overt enemies. "Your father clearly raised all of you right. He raised you to take care of his other baby- Lannister Broadcasting- and he succeeded. But you don't have to worry. I know there can be...tumult in a merger this size. But there can also be great growth. And with my father and I on the inside...well, we're going to do whatever it takes to maintain harmony and honor your traditions."

"Joffrey didn't go to your party either, did he?" asked Cersei, grasping at straws to get under Margaery's skin.

Traffic was a nightmare on the way to the Lannister Broadcasting corporate offices, so much so that Marg suspected Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion might even be regretting the pit stop they'd made at her house and the breakfast outing.

Sansa, who normally wouldn't do such a "rude" thing in the car with people she wasn't totally close to, dug her IPod out of her purse and popped in her earbuds. Sandwiched between Margaery and Tyrion again, she huddled into herself and tuned everybody out while Margaery alternately daydreamed and watched the others. She wasn't going to think about the meeting they were all- save Sansa- so urgent to attend. Thinking about that would only take away her calm, her cool, and her reason, and that would not help her.

Cersei glowered and sulked, pulled out her compact every five minutes, and fixed some imaginary thing that was wrong with her makeup. Jaime looked over the whole thing already, and so exhausted that Marg almost wished he wasn't behind the wheel. Tyrion twiddled his thumbs and read something on his phone.

All in all, it was another awkward silence, longer, more unbroken, and even more tense than the others.

~*~

Margaery had never known Olenna Tyrell to show up to a business meeting not dressed to the nines. So when she entered the large conference room at Lannister Broadcasting and her searching eyes landed upon the target of her grandmother, she was utterly astonished to find the distinguished elderly woman in workout clothes.

Stopping short in the doorway and paying no mind to the Lannisters at her back, she quickly raised her eyebrows at the Queen of Thorns. Her grandmother's eyebrows shot mischievously up in reply, the old woman smirking widely the whole time. Cersei coughed behind Margaery, and Marg finally moved, slipping into the room and moving to one side as her eyes took in the fact that her grandmother wasn't the only one at the table in workout garb.

All of Team Tyrell was. A smile immediately grew on Margaery's face- a smile of amusement and strength.

_Clever_ , she mouthed to her grandmother, who gave a little shrug as if to suggest, _You expected anything less?_

Tyrion, ever the one to say what everyone else would not, took one look around before directing a wry smile at Margaery.

"It looks like your side came to play."

Marg feigned a look and tone of confusion.

"You shouldn't put it like that, Tyrion. I'm sure we're all on the same side here."

"Too true, Margaery," Cersei spoke up, making her way to the long table and claiming a seat beside her father, who sat at one end of it. "I know how much my father wishes for us all to become one." She looked at Tywin sourly.

Tywin looked pretty sour himself. His lips pursed, and he glared over at Cersei before bestowing only a slightly-less-displeased look upon the room as a whole.

"Well, as far as unexpected arrivals go, I can't say that this one is a total pleasure," he remarked in his deep, steely voice, drumming his fingers upon the table. "Cersei, this doesn't concern you at all, and that chair wasn't reserved for you. And Jaime and Tyrion, you're late. What's worse, I bet that you, along with your sister, are responsible for Miss Tyrell being late. I apologize on their behalf, Miss Tyrell."

Margaery inclined her head respectfully in his direction, flashing her most disarming dimples, though she knew Tywin's guard would come down when they pulled it from his cold, dead hands. Speaking of unexpected arrivals, he was one himself.

Tywin, although this deal had been arranged in his name, was a threat. Margaery- as well as her grandmother, she felt sure- would have been much more at ease if he'd stayed away. It made sense that he'd want to be present for so big a deal; but the Tyrell team had mostly been communicating with his brother, Kevan Lannister, acting as an intermediary. Kevan didn't have the reputation Tywin did for being a businessman of particular ferocity, and having Tywin show up could suddenly put the Tyrells in peril. It called into question the preliminary talks that had gone down.

"Quite alright," said Margaery, responding to the formidable head of the Lannisters as breezily as she could. "It's unfortunate, of course, if we held you all up, but there was some bad luck with traffic and whatnot. Cersei, Jaime, Tyrion, and I have been having some good chats."

Tywin Lannister merely cleared his throat and stood from the table. He had a towering presence even when sitting down, but everyone seemed to be even more aware of him as he made his way around to politely pull out a chair for Margaery Tyrell.

~*~

Margaery decided quite spontaneously but firmly that she wanted to make the Lannisters drive her back home. She had been forced to ride around with them as a pawn in their game, but now, she would force them to chauffeur around the victor.

She also decided with the same spirit of spontaneity that she wouldn't give Cersei the gift she had designed for her. Not yet, anyway. She was considering gifting the Lannister woman another piece entirely, but apart from that, an idea had taken root in Marg's head, and she knew that the timing for Cersei's consolation prize could get even sweeter than now.

The Lannister siblings were looking visibly perturbed, their hope to discredit her dashed to pieces. When everyone filed out of the conference room, hitching another ride with the them seemed contraindicated, but Marg asked for that very thing to happen, nonetheless. Sansa looked up from her seat in the lobby, confusion and exasperation in her gaze, but she went along with things more easily than the last time.

~*~

 Joffrey had taken a cue from his relatives and shown up unannounced.

As the Lannister siblings were dropping her and Sansa off, Marg spotted him there in the driveway, leaning against the hood of his car. He'd driven his yellow Hummer today. What a stereotype of a privileged, So. Cal child he looked like, the sun glinting off both the car's brilliant finish and his golden crown.

Margaery tried to tell if he was angry. He didn't seem to be. She bit her lip, waiting to see if Joff brought up The Maidenvault. He would do it right away if he was going to do it at all, Marg felt sure. When she and Sansa had arrived there a couple nights ago, she'd spotted him going into the VIP section. She had hoped he wouldn't find out she had been there.

Being with Joffrey seemed to entail much securing his comfort at the expense of her own. Sansa had found that out to her sorrow, the poor wounded bird. Marg had received a text from Joff at the club, disclosing his whereabouts. She'd been rattled, thinking it was a hint that he knew she was there also. She wouldn't have been able to avoid him if that were the case, and with Sansa there, too, it would have been an even worse situation for her friend than she found herself in now.

Since that night, Marg had been hoping fervently that Tyrion hadn't mentioned seeing her at the club. There was a good chance he hadn't. Joff and his uncle, after all, weren't exactly close.

"Hey, babe." Joffrey waltzed up to her and clapped her soundly on the ass. Margaery let out a little 'oh!' as though in delight. "Looking _good_. Damn, does everybody see how smoking my girlfriend looks in yoga pants?" It didn't escape Marg how Joffrey made sure to smirk at Sansa just as he said that.

It also didn't escape her that this was the first time he'd called her his girlfriend. She couldn't help but get a little thrill from that. It was satisfying to see her plan take greater shape.

Sansa just looked awkward, while Cersei smiled a strained smile.

"Margaery knows she looks good," she said, in a particularly coldly poised kind of way, before moving forward to clasp her son by one shoulder and kiss him on the cheek. He just barely endured the gesture, his face screwing up into an irritable, juvenile expression until his mother backed away.

"I'll see you at home," Cersei said.

"Doubt it," scoffed Joff, somehow managing to shove his hands into the pockets of the jeans he was wearing, despite them being perhaps the tightest skinny jeans that Marg had ever seen. "I don't live with you, Cersei." Joff's newest thing was calling his mother by her given name, and though he'd been doing it for a while now, Margaery could see how the Lannister woman's face instantly fell a bit when she heard it.

"I'm in the guest house, and I don't need to stop over every night, you needy woman," Joffrey was continuing, and Margaery was inwardly wincing. She wasn't exactly Cersei's biggest fan, but Joff was just being embarrassing. "I may stay home tonight..." His arm was still wrapped around Marg, and he began to stroke the small of her back. "Or I may go out, get my party on..."

Margaery felt his eyes heavy on her, and turned to look at him. He was eyeing her meaningfully.

"Or I could just stay here with Margaery tonight."

"If you want to spend the night in Pasadena, there's nothing I can do to stop you," said his mother dully, tapping her sunglasses down off of her head to land in place, covering the slight glare she was aiming at Marg. And with that, she turned and sauntered toward Jaime's car. He had practically gone to sleep behind the wheel waiting for her. She slapped him on the arm to bring him to attention.

Tyrion was once more playing around on his phone.

"Goodbye!" Margaery called after them cheerfully as the engine purred to life. She waved widely and enthusiastically. "Goodbye!" She didn't get a response, but then again, she didn't expect one.

The car peeled out of the drive, and she felt Joffrey's lips on her neck.

"Mmm..." he murmured against her skin. Margaery giggled in what she knew was a charming way, while she tried to figure out how to make the best of this situation. Joffrey wasn't unattractive to her physically, but if she was ever going to be hot for him, it probably wouldn't be right now.

Not right now, after he'd acted like a totally snotty child. Not right now, so recently after she'd bested his whole entire family. Could she get turned on by the scion of a family she'd just whipped so effectively- and not in the sexy way?

Actually...

Marg smirked to herself. She did feel rather sexy. She could feel her growing power making her even sexier than she already had been. She really was the whole package, wasn't she? Sex appeal and beauty and business acumen.

As pleased as she was with herself, however, she didn't think that would make up for not being pleased enough with him. She would have to succumb eventually, but she could afford to wait longer. It would only make him want her more. They weren't at the point yet where he would have gotten bored and frustrated by her. Especially not if she at least gave him a little...something tonight, which she may be willing to do. Just not the whole enchilada yet.

"Why don't we just play it by ear?" She craned her neck away from him, and used a finger beneath his chin to tilt his face up. She tilted her head so her lips could access his ear, kissing the shell and gently biting the lobe.

At that moment, she heard movement behind her, and the door to the house shut firmly. Marg turned to see Sansa, her overnight bag swung over her shoulder, come striding purposely toward them. Joff sniggered. Sansa passed them up, calling back on her way down the drive,

"I phoned a cab, I'm going to go wait for it now!"

"Sansa!" Margaery exclaimed, and extricated herself from Joffrey, praying he wouldn't follow her.

She jogged down the driveway to catch up with the redhead. Soon she came up alongside of her, but Sansa just continued on down to the curb. She stopped there, though, clutching her bag and stubbornly facing away from Marg.

"You're mad at me," said Marg.

"No..." Sansa denied, shaking her head, her glossy red locks whipping side to side."If I'm mad at anyone right now, Marg, I'm mad at myself."

Margaery wondered about her statement and was just about to ask why Sansa was mad at herself when her friend suddenly giggled and added,

"Well, and also Joffrey and the Lannisters, as per usual."

Margaery cracked a smile, too, as Sansa turned to face her with an attempt at a level expression.

"Do you forgive me?" Marg asked hopefully.

"There's nothing to forgive," replied Sansa with another shake of her head. "That's why I'm mad at myself- for letting myself be steered wherever you wanted me to go."

They stared at each other for a long moment, until Sansa declared, "I'm really not upset with you, Margaery. _Of course_ this happened with you and Joffrey. I...only wish I would have figured it out sooner. Maybe, now that he's...better," Margaery noticed that Sansa didn't say 'better' with any confidence at all, "you'll be able to help him more and..." The redhead shrugged. "He might become a better person with your help. I hope- I _really_ , _really_ hope that he'll be a good boyfriend to you. Just..." She paused and worried her lip. " _Be careful_ ," she finished, as a cab could be seen rounding the corner and headed their way.

Sansa was perhaps worried that her friend wouldn't take such cautionary advice as a kindness, but Marg did. She felt the warning unnecessary, but she appreciated it. She knew all about the spitefulness of girls, but there was no way in hell Sansa wanted Joffrey back. Margaery had been around for too much of the dark circumstances of Sansa's break-up and the massive fallout afterward. Joff and the Lannisters really had caused her hell.

Marg frowned slightly as she watched the cab carrying Sansa disappear out of sight. She didn't know what had happened to the Starks as a whole. Sansa believed in some terrible grand conspiracy that had ultimately resulted in their deaths. As always seeking to find the middle ground between paranoia and naivete, Margaery had listened and considered. She certainly didn't think the Lannisters above reproach when it came to doing harm to the Starks, but she had to believe nobody was actually setting up murders there. It must have all just been a case of things getting away from them and some unfortunate coincidences.

As for the role of the girlfriend in Joffrey's life...

' _It's nothing I can't handle_ ,' Margaery told herself, turning around and walking back to where her boyfriend waited.

 

  _To be continued..._

 

 


	5. Dany 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you probably noticed that in my previous Daenerys chapter, I didn't describe Jorah as he is played by the supremely talented and attractive Iain Glen in the T.V. show. That is because when I'm writing this story, I picture Jorah as sort of a mash-up between Iain Glen, and the way Mormont is described in the books. That's just me. *shrugs* My personal preference. For most of the other parts, I tend to picture the actors. (Especially Sansa and Margaery) I'm adamant in no way about how a character is "supposed" to be. If picturing your personal preference helps with your enjoyment of this story, I also would prefer that you have that in your mind. :)

_**Dany** _

  
Daenerys Targaryen set out quite alone that morning to look for a space suitable for her new store. She had been wanting to meet with a realtor, but, well- nobody was free. There was absolutely nobody who didn't insist that she first make an appointment. When Dany had, in a joking voice with no joking intent, suggested an appointment for that very day, in an hour or two's time, that had yielded no fruit, either, so here she was.

Sitting in a frozen yogurt parlor directly across from the "space for sale or lease" that she'd just been in to inquire about, Dany toyed with the ends of her newly shortened hair and frowned at the peaches and marshmallows atop her treat. This is not a friendly town, she thought to herself. She stabbed at a peach with the side of her spork, slicing it in half. It's not like I'm bothering people who want to stay in their businesses!

Dany had so far stopped by five places that the current owners now supposedly wanted somebody else to occupy, but had been treated very curtly in each of them. No information had been forthcoming. She’d spoken to two managers who wouldn’t give out the phone numbers or emails of their establishments' respective owners. She had encountered the owner there on site at three of the places, but in every case, they declined to discuss any type of arrangement with her, instead saying all buying or rental business had to go through their realtor. They then all proceeded to act extremely busy, like they no longer had any time for her, though Dany couldn't help but notice the very small amount of customers in each shop.

Now she was getting fed up, and feeling her lack of support. She could have brought Barristan to look with her, but he had to work. Still, she mulled, she should go and see him when he was on lunch. They could go somewhere and talk. Maybe he had some advice about the location of her store- and how to deal with rude people who gave you the run around.

Dany finished her froyo while simultaneously combing through an issue of People somebody had left on the table, then stood and pushed her purse up onto her shoulder. She checked her Baby G and saw that it was almost 1 o'clock. She hoped that her uncle hadn't already been to lunch...

~*~

"Such a pleasant surprise, Daenerys," said Barristan, inviting her to sit with a gracious sweep of his arm. "But I'm afraid I'm taking lunch in the office today."

"Oh..." muttered Dany, mouth thinning. "Well, but that's okay." She brightened. "I'll just run out and pick something up, and we can enjoy it right here."

"I don't know how much enjoyment would be going on," replied Barristan Selmy ruefully, folding his hands together on top of a sizable stack of folders on his desk. "I plan to have a working lunch. I'm sorry. I'm afraid I'm rather swamped at the moment with matters that need quick attention. I'm sure I'll scarcely remember to notice the taste of my food, and I'll be no company to you whatsoever. I don't think you really want to spend your lunch watching me make my way through loads of dusty old paperwork."

Internally, Dany sighed, but she showed Barristan only a sweet, resigned smile. "No, I'm afraid I don't. I'd much rather talk and enjoy some nice conversation, but suppose we can do that another time." She was half out of her chair, on her way to standing up. "You're not overworking yourself, are you?" she suddenly thought to ask, in a cautioning sort of voice.

She knew her almost-uncle was the picture of one dedicated to his work, but she hadn’t known him long enough to be able to judge if he took it to excesses. Barristan Selmy wasn't, after all, a young man. She had no desire to infantilize him- her time with Drogo made her well enough aware that proud, masculine men disliked being fussed over too much- but showing her concern now and then couldn't go amiss.

Barristan chuckled and shook his head, smiling up at her from behind his desk. "No, I don't believe so. You don't need to worry about me, my dear. Probably the only reason I'm overrun right now is because sometimes I let myself be a bit lax." He grinned almost mischievously, but Dany didn't completely buy it. Still, she eased up when Barristan added, "Besides, it's not always like this. We've just had some rather complex cases lately."

Daenerys stood up straight and checked her watch again, reevaluating her plans. "Well, alright, then. I'll leave you to it." She bid him goodbye and was soon leaving his office.

Out in the hallway, however, she found herself in no hurry to leave the building, since a sudden idea had come to her. Golden and Sons. Jorah Mormont, that man she'd met at Margaery Tyrell's party, he worked in this same building, didn't he? Maybe he would want to go to lunch.

She'd wanted to pick Barristan's brain about setting up her business, but she'd have another opportunity to do that. Until then, maybe there was another mature, intelligent man of her acquaintance she could consult.

She made her way into the lobby as she considered this plan. By the elevator, she found a placard with the locations of all the businesses in the building. Golden and Sons was one floor down. It shared the floor with two other businesses, as opposed to her uncle's firm, which had the entire spacious seventh floor to itself.

Was it a good idea to seek out a man she'd only met once before, briefly, and invite him to lunch? To actually show up unannounced at his office? Would that give him any sort of...ideas?

She wasn't interested in Jorah romantically. She wasn't trying to pursue him for that reason- she was only trying to pursue a friendship. Maybe she should have tried to get his contact information from Barristan. Or search on Facebook for him, and arrange to meet for lunch tomorrow instead. But then, Dany could easily believe he was the sort of man without a Facebook page, or any online presence whatsoever.

At Margaery Tyrell's party, Dany had merely been friendly to Jorah. If she had flirted a very little bit, it was only in a harmless sort of way. To be kind. Or the way one would act a little playful toward their professor or something. It was fine to make eyes at your professor a bit. It was actually trying to seduce them that would be crossing a line.

It would be ridiculous for Jorah to assume she was romantically interested in him, and he didn't strike her as a ridiculous man.

~*~

"Lunch time, Jorah!" Dany practically sang out to him as she popped around the door frame and stood at the threshold of his office with a cheery smile on her face. He'd been looking at something on his computer screen, and her entrance startled him. He gave a little jump in his seat as he quickly turned to face her with eyes gone slightly round behind a large pair of dowdy, gray-rimmed spectacles.

"Daenerys?" He took off the glasses and folded them on his desk. He stared at her, thrown. "Not to be inhospitable...but what are you doing here?"

She came further into his office and stood behind the chair across from his desk, hands holding onto the headrest. "I was just out and about and I happened to think about you. I was gonna get some lunch, and I just feel like having some company for that."

Jorah continued to look a bit flustered, but cracked a small smile as he asked gruffly,

"So, I've been summoned to lunch, is that it?"

Dany grinned. "C'mon! Let's go!" she ordered, waving him toward the door. "Lunch! She planted her hands on her hips sternly.

Jorah looked nonplussed. His eyes darted around his office like he couldn't give her an answer about lunch without first ascertaining it from the room. Dany was surprised he even had to think about it. She knew how much he had enjoyed her company before. What's more, it wasn't so much an invitation as an order, she thought with a smile, her eyes beginning to dart around the small office, as well. She wondered if he was embarrassed of, not only the size being hardly bigger than a broom cupboard, but also its clutter.

Jorah gave a brief, gruff chuckle, causing her to look once more at the occupant instead of the room.

"That's kind of you, Daenerys, but my lunch isn't until 2 o'clock."

Dany beamed. "Not today. I talked to your boss. He said that you could go now."

It hadn't been hard to charm the man. Jorah's supervisor, grim-faced though he was, had seemed quite impressed that Jorah had a pretty young woman in asking for him, and also, didn't seem to be doing particularly much himself, nor anyone in the office. It seemed that business was a little slow.

Jorah reached up and removed his glasses, folding them carefully and putting them in a hard tortoise shell case on his desk. He looked up at her with a mildly wry smile.

"Of course he did."

Dany neared the desk and drummed her fingers on it in a show of impatience. "So you're on your lunch break now and you're totally wasting it. I'd hurry up if I were you. Forty-five minutes. Chop chop."

~*~

As they got close to the place Dany had in mind for lunch, she took Jorah's elbow.

"I hope you like sushi. We could have gone to Nobu if it was closer."

Jorah gave a snort. "Impressive, but I don't require a side of pretension or movie star sightings with my lunch."

Dany's lip pulled into a small smile of amusement, even while she felt a flicker of annoyance, unsure if he was insulting her taste.

"But you do like sushi?" she questioned him.

"I do," he confirmed, and he seemed to press a little closer to her. Others on the sidewalks were giving them second looks, and Dany wondered if it was because of her identity, or because of the fact that she, a pretty and petite twenty something, was walking arm in arm with a burly, plain, middle-aged man. But this was Los Angeles, after all, and people ought to be accustomed to seeing women with much older men. Not that this was a date or anything.

"I like a wide variety of foods," continued Jorah. "Probably because I've done my share of traveling in my life. But..." he smiled slightly, "all bears like fish."

Dany laughed. She was intrigued by his mention of travel and was about to ask him more about that, but his mention of a bear also caught her attention, and a little laugh bubbled up from her throat.

"A bear? You're a bear, Jorah?" It didn't seem like a poor description of him, come to think about it.

"Well, I don't go around saying that in West Hollywood," remarked Jorah dryly, making Dany giggle, "but it's a joke among the Mormonts. There's a bear on the logo for the family foundry, and the Mormont men...well, we're..." He paused as Dany pointed out the place and led him in.

There was a line inside at the hostess's stand, not too long. Jorah continued as they fell into place, "We're kind of a broad-shouldered stock, tall...have a reputation for a bit of a temperament, I guess..." he finished, muttering the final part of that sentence in a suitably gruff way. It made Dany smile. A teddy bear, she thought, although really, she could see how Jorah had the physique and grouchy mannerisms of the real thing.

"The women in our family, aren't so different, come to that," added Jorah in a monotone, provoking a laugh from Daenerys. He looked at her thoughtfully, as though suddenly noticing something.

"You changed something about your hair, didn't you?"

"It's shorter, yes, quite a bit shorter," replied Dany, fluffing the ends of her silver blond hair, which now fell midway between chin and shoulder. "Do you like?" she smiled at Jorah.

The man beside her shrugged. "Hair is hair. It looked good before and it looks good now. Nearly everyone's hair looks better than mine. So what has you out and about today, anyway?"

"Business-related reasons," replied Dany, primly and professionally, she thought.

She could practically feel Jorah's eyes rake her over from head to toe. He opened his mouth a quarter inch as his gaze found hers. There was a question in his eyes, which looked faintly satirical, but he didn't say anything.

"What?" she urged, looking down at her outfit. She was wearing a pale blue peasant blouse with a gold colored belt cinched around her waist, and a denim mini skirt. On her feet were a pair of simple black flip-flops- designer flip-flops, and for the price she had paid for them, she assumed they were the best she'd ever owned. Dany looked back up to Jorah.

"Not, so, er...business formal, or even business casual," he remarked, then hastened to add, "not that it's not a...good look."

Dany's lips pursed. "I thought it was California casual. I didn't think you all worried about that sort of thing here..." She wondered whether or not her attire could have had anything to do with how she was received at the various shop space contenders. Did they think she didn't look professional enough?

"Well, I haven't been sitting in boardrooms all day," she added, slightly defensive. "And it's the woman who makes the clothes, anyway, not the other way around, and I know how to conduct myself like a true businesswoman and entrepreneur. Which I am."

"I see." His lips twitched in amusement. "And how long have you been a...businesswoman and entrepreneur?"

"I am...a new businesswoman and entrepreneur," Dany was forced to admit. They reached the front of the line and were led to a table. She continued talking as they walked. "But I have it in my blood. And I learned a lot from my last job. I was practically running the place, by the end."

"What was your last job?" Jorah asked, while they were being seated on the outskirts of the restaurant's center, at a table by a window.

"It was a store called The Khalasar," replied Daenerys, before thanking the hostess and opening up her menu.

"The Khalasar?" Jorah repeated. Clearly he thought that was a strange name. Dany laughed.

"Yes, the name, apparently, of some kind of ancient group of people in Morocco or somewhere around there," Dany explained. She didn't want to be culturally insensitive, but she truly didn't remember the details. "That's what my old boss told me. They sold clothes and jewelry and some tribal-type knickknacks. I was a clerk there, but by the end, I was practically running the place. The girls that worked with me even started calling me the Khaleesi when our boss wasn't there. According to ancient tradition, a Khaleesi is, like, the queen of the Khalasar." She smiled at the memory.

Jorah nodded. "You must have been a good leader. And you enjoyed operating that clothing store?"

"Oh, yes!" Dany replied at once, making up her mind what she wanted and setting her menu down on the table. She watched her companion peruse his. "And I worked with some great people. The boss's two nieces, Irri and Jhiqui, came back here with me, we got along so well. They work as my assistants now, which is awesome. They're the best. It's great having my friends around me all the time."

They were her friends, yes, but she still found herself lonely. It sounded juvenile to put it that way, but they weren't 'best friends' material for her. They were lovely girls and she cared for them very much, but they were extremely close with one another before she came along. She'd assumed more of a leadership role at work almost immediately, and no matter how much she strove to treat Irri and Jhiqui like her equals, both then and now, there seemed to remain some kind of insurmountable barrier between employees and boss.

A waiter came and took their orders with efficiency and then they were alone again. After they'd sat in silence for a bit, Jorah inquired as to what had brought her back to town, convinced her to move from Nevada after all these years.

"I guess I always had this idea in my head that this was my home," answered Dany, tracing a finger around the rim of her water glass absentmindedly. "It felt like the right time to come back."

When she had nothing else...

Jorah propped his elbows up on the table and rested his jaw on his clasped hands. He nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "Sometimes it's just the right time to go...and you're from here, originally, of course. Your family had quite a life here."

"They did," said Dany somberly, with a nod. It was odd, how whenever she spoke about this family she'd never met, she'd adopt a manner and a mood appropriate to if she were eulogizing them. Not giving a proper, emotional familial eulogy; but eulogizing intimidating pillars of the distant past, prominent people to whom she owed some kind of debt she could never repay.

Living up to them would be the closest she could come. The closest to feeling their love, as well.

"For a while, I think I considered staying in Henderson. Or at least in Nevada," she blurted out. She started to run on a bit, unsure what was prompting her to do so. There was an uncharacteristic anxious energy in her voice. "Or really anywhere Drogo would've wanted to go. He always talked about traveling a good deal. He said he was going to take me traveling. I thought maybe we'd settle down in one of the places we traveled to. I wouldn't want to travel forever. Then I started asking him to come back with me to California."

"Drogo?" repeated Jorah, his voice deep and baffled. "I knew a man named Drogo... Met him in Vegas. I don't figure that's a very common name. And...Nevada. Are we talking about the same guy?" He leaned his elbows on the table and looked intense. "Bit of a, er, rough and tough fellow. Who was he to you?"

"He was my sun and stars," she found herself forcing out in a thick sort of voice, looking down at the gleaming tabletop as she found herself unexpectedly needing to force back tears.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, as she counted ten in her head the way she'd once read she should do to quell her anger. Perhaps it would help her to get a hold of herself when on the brink of an outburst of sorrow, as well.

What on earth had gotten into her?

Jorah's big, warm hand covered hers where it lay on the table. It was a gentle touch as he said, "No, don't be sorry," in a voice that was firm, but maybe the kindest she'd ever heard.

For all its kindness, though, she still had to bite back the impulse to let him know that he should not be telling her what to do. She didn't blame him for assuming she was apologizing for his benefit, but the truth was, she was apologizing to herself for letting herself down.

The waiter came back with their food, providing that extra incentive to return to normal. Daenerys pasted a smile on her face and thanked their server with quiet composure, stamping down any ruffle of emotion that wanted to remain.

In short order the madness had ceased. While she'd been fighting the show of grief, it had seemed like she'd been sitting there for an hour fighting that battle. As she pulled her steady hand out from underneath Jorah's, however, and reached for her chopsticks, coolly arranging them in her hand, it occurred to her that her lapse must have lasted only a couple of minutes.

After she chewed and swallowed, she met Jorah's eyes. She found him looking fixedly at her with concern.

"We were engaged," she informed him, her voice perfectly level. Even so, her left hand reflexively grasped some fabric around the hem of her shirt, as though grabbing for a security blanket. She raised her eyebrows somewhat as she spoke, staring into Jorah's gaze, knowing it lent her a haughty look. It was an expression she would adopt occasionally to serve as something like armor. She did so now, because while she found herself touched by Jorah's solicitousness, she also couldn't help but find herself irritated by anything resembling pity.

Damn him for asking about Drogo. She decided to turn his question back on him.

"How did you know Drogo?"

She was gratified to see Jorah looking awkward. He cleared his throat, sipped on his Coke, and glanced away,

"When I...found myself in a sticky spot financially once...he helped me out."

By the time he had finished his halting sentence, though, she was done feeling satisfied by having passed the discomfiture onto him. There was such a careworn look about this man. Not to mention, fundamentally trustworthy. Jorah was the last sort of man she would have expected to get involved with Drogo

...But no, he wasn't. That would be someone like her uncle Barristan. Jorah was different. He seemed less..less straitlaced, somehow.

Part of her wanted to ask how, in the whole wide world and in all his travels, he'd been brought into contact with Drogo of all people. However, she pushed that aside, figuring she might ask one day, but it probably was as simple as Jorah having been one of the countless people every day who visited Las Vegas, and one of the many who somehow found out about Drogo's services.

"That's how a lot of people met Drogo," she replied nonchalantly. "That's what brought us together; somebody being in a tight financial spot. My brother owed Drogo and his gang heaps of money, and in order to bring down the debt and buy himself some more time, Viserys told Drogo that I would go out with him." Dany's mouth twisted into a bittersweet smile.

The bitter overcame her voice as she explained, "He made this offer before I agreed to it, of course. I had never once expressed an interest in Drogo; I didn't even know who he was beyond being this big, scary shadowy figure my brother was indebted to. And when Viserys came to me and told me what I was going to do...I didn't understand how I could possibly be considered...payment at all." She flushed angrily, even now.

The set of Jorah's jaw revealed that he was leery about the way this story was going. "That's infuriating," he muttered, averting his eyes. "To whore his sister out...'

Dany blushed deeper. She was slightly affronted that Jorah was jumping to the worst conclusion about her dead brother, but in fact, she had been about to state that's what she had been thinking, back then. And now. She realized that Viserys had had no compunction about letting Drogo do as he wanted with her.

"I assumed this man wanted more than a...a date, and so I was terrified that he was going to attack me someday. I put bars on my bedroom window, and my room was on the third floor." She laughed without humor. "Viserys tried to introduce me to Drogo once at a party. He assured me Drogo wouldn't dare touch me, because I'm a Targaryen," she rolled her eyes. "As if that would matter. He said Drogo just wanted to get to know me. At the party, Drogo- well, he definitely made himself known."

"What does that mean?" asked Jorah, his voice pitching low and hoarse, scraping against his throat with dread. Then his eyes widened in bewilderment when Dany gave a genuine little giggle.

Some of the heaviness left her chest and most of the bitterness fled her voice as she fondly recalled Drogo. "He didn't speak a word to me, but he lurked around, watching me constantly. It had me scared to pieces." Again she giggled. "To have this very tall, very muscular, fearsome looking guy watching me all night...he was not subtle." She grinned.

Jorah was still looking perplexed, but he'd evidently stopped being too moonstruck to eat, as he was now devouring his sushi, popping a piece into his mouth whole.

"It didn't take long after that night to start talking to him. I...don't know if I would have done that if things weren't going so poorly in my life."

"What was going on?" Jorah questioned, nothing insinuating, nothing said in a bleeding heart tone, all blunt and matter-of-fact, but with a softness in his eyes. "I mean, I assume your relationship with your brother was still bad. What with him being a prick and all. But did he...did he start acting worse toward you?" His face creased with an expectant anger ready to break through.

Dany paused before resuming her story, scrutinizing Jorah briefly and wondering if he ever wore flannel. Flannel seemed like something he'd be very at home in. She wondered if he ever wore flannel back in Sweet Home, Oregon. She could picture him like that, deep in Oregonian woods, in a flannel shirt with a backdrop of green.

"Not at that time," responded Dany. "But he didn't need to get worse for me to talk to Drogo. I was already feeling pretty desperate. Just...lonely, and worried about the future. I was a senior in high school, and looking at colleges, and Viserys was insisting on having his input. He wanted to approve my final choice. He never went to college, himself. Said he didn't need it. I just started feeling like I would never be free, even though I was becoming an adult. I didn't have any friends, because I'd been home-schooled. And I'd never worked a job. I guess it was almost like I...snapped." Daenerys let out a high giggle, uncertain of itself, of what it was laughing at. She averted her gaze, not wanting to see Jorah's reaction to her 'snapping'.

"I mean..." she went on, "that I was just sick of it. And being like that- well, it eventually propelled toward the very thing I was afraid of. Drogo. He was...a man of few words. Strong and silent. A good listener. Not...exactly a gentleman. In fact, rough around the edges would be an understatement, but he never treated me like I feared he would when I first saw him. He never was violent toward me. He never forced himself on me. I loved him, just because for once, it was like somebody was appreciating me for me." She didn't explain any further what she meant by that.

"And then..." Here she was. The sad ending of the tale. She would have to wrap this up in a jiffy. She never talked about it, and what if she couldn't start now without breaking down? She would tell it fast, like pulling off a Band-Aid, tell it like it was just simple facts, not something devastating.

"Well, we started going out, and we got really serious." She'd almost forgotten she hadn't gotten to the tragic part yet. She could feel it looming, before she talked about their happiest days. Like the aftermath overshadowed her and Drogo's brief relationship.

"We also got kind of careless, and I wound up pregnant. Drogo asked me to marry him, and I said yes, even though I'd just graduated. Viserys wasn't happy, and he ended up getting into it with some of Drogo's...friends just because he was so mad about his dumb, pregnant teen sister. And...well...there was a fight. Not much of one, with a group of them against my brother, and...my brother was killed." Dany cleared her throat awkwardly.

"I should have been more upset than I was..." she admitted in a mumble. Jorah's face was a blank, so she couldn't tell if he was judging her. "They called Drogo, because they were nervous they were going to get found out and all, and they wanted to know what to do. Drogo hopped on his motorcycle to go put out that fire. I went along with him, riding on back."

Dany stopped and took a breath.

"There was a crash. I survived, obviously. I was the only one. It killed Drogo, and it killed the baby." She spoke emotionlessly, as if this personal tragedy belonged to somebody else. Of course, if it had, she wouldn't be so insensitive as to speak about it like it were mundane, so maybe instead it was like she mentioning something she'd read about in a work of fiction.

Jorah was shaking his head sorrowfully. "Daenerys...I am so, so sorry. What a horrible loss. I myself lost my first wife when there were complications during the birth of our son..."

"Oh, Jorah! Oh, no!" Dany exclaimed. "You have my sympathies..."

He cut her off with a gruff cough, and he thanked her.

"Do you...do you have a son, then...?" She trailed away and blushed, not knowing the tactful way to ask if the baby had survived. It was odd to wonder about how old he was if he had: would he be closer to Dany's age than her new friend, Jorah?

Jorah coughed again. "Uh, no, no, unfortunately, our child was stillborn. It was an incredibly difficult time. I mean, of course it would have been, anyway, but she had wanted to have the baby to sort of...save the marriage. I wanted to be a father, but I wish she hadn't...gone while she was probably still wondering if I loved her. I did love her. And she loved me, I think. We'd married out of almost a friendly kind of love, and we weren't in love at the end, either, but--" He broke off, and looked moderately uncomfortable. This was not a man who talked about his personal affairs or his feelings often, Dany gathered.

This time, she was the one to reach across and take his hand. They were silent together for a minute or so. Then, Daenerys withdrew her hand, and went about finishing up her meal. Jorah did the same, and in short order, they were done eating. Dany laid down her chopsticks and broke the silence.

"Well, that was it, that was the story of Dany. Moving on now." She looked down at her watch. "I guess that's how you wasted your lunch break."

Jorah consulted his own watch for confirmation and sighed. He looked back up with a kind smile. "That's okay. It was better than the way I thought I was going to spend it. Although that story was quite a roller coaster ride." He reached over and briefly touched her hand again. "Thank you for lunch, Daenerys. I hope to return the favor sometime very soon."

"Mm-hm," replied Dany, somewhat distractedly, remaining sitting as Jorah stood. He cocked his head and looked at her.

"Jorah, how much do you really like selling insurance?"

"It's a living," he responded with a half-shrug, seemingly puzzled that she would ask.

"Would you consider leaving Golden and Sons for another offer?"

"Depends who was making it," he answered practically. "Why?"

"Because," Daenerys said, rising from the table as she dug around in her purse for tip money, "I need an executive assistant." She was fully aware that what she was doing was impulsive and might seem a little weird, but it felt right to her. She could go through the hassle of conducting interviews, but why shouldn't she just go with somebody she already liked, who had helped her already, seemed smart, and had business experience?

From the look on Jorah's face, he was trying to figure out if she was being serious, and if the proposed idea was actually at all sensible.

"This is a legitimate offer," Dany clarified, as Jorah touched her on the wrist and shook his head, indicating for her to stop rooting around her purse. He took out his wallet and tossed a few bills onto the table. She leaned over slightly to look at them better, nodding in approval upon seeing he'd tipped more than the minimum.

"I don't know why you wouldn't at least consider it," she went on.

He shifted on his large feet awkwardly. "Daenerys...to have it presented this way, so suddenly, and before I've learned really anything at all about your...ventures...."

"You need to know that I have a solid foundation for them, but I will need your help to get them off the ground," replied Dany. She looked at him entreatingly. "Not just your help. My Uncle Barristan is my lawyer, and I will have him advising me, as well. But I think you also have to believe that I have what it takes in me to make a successful business. To make a successful empire, in time. I don't want you thinking this is some ludicrous position, being offered to you by a capricious girl who doesn't have a clue what she's doing..." Her attitude taking a cunning turn, she asked, "Has business been slow at Golden and Sons?"

Jorah looked dour. "Slower than my superiors would like, which means it's slower than I'd like."

Daenerys nodded knowingly.

"I'm a safe bet right now. Not to be vulgar, but I have enough money that I wouldn't know what to do with it if I didn't have the idea to become an entrepreneur. You don't need to worry where your next paycheck is coming from with me any more than you do with Golden and Sons. I'm at least as stable of an employer as they are. It's like that quote from Citizen Kane, about how he lost a million dollars the previous year, and he could still stand to lose a million dollars this year and the next year and he'd only have to close the place in sixty years." Dany spoke quickly and excitedly. "Well, I can stand to lose money and stay in business for a long time, too."

Unsaid was just how long she could afford to lose money for, and at a rate of how many dollars, but she knew that word had probably gotten around a long time ago about just how much the young Targaryen heirs had been left with. She was twenty-five now, and not only had she come into her full inheritance, she’d also inherited the unused portion of her brother's after he passed on. It was a gross sum of money, to tell the truth, and she wasn't about to disclose specific dollar amounts in the here and now. She allowed the power of suggestion to speak for her. All she added was,

"But of course we'll be making much more money than we'll be losing."

Jorah didn't strike her as a whimsical man, one who chased romantic dreams. Therefore, even though his next words ("Oh, what the hell?") carried with them a sense of being impulsive, she flattered herself that he was taking a calculated risk because she'd truly impressed him.

~*~

The space was next to a pet store.

The day following their lunch, Jorah was already proving himself a worthy executive assistant, having arranged a meeting with a former client of his who was looking to offer a rent or rent-to-buy situation on a piece of primo real estate.

Arriving early and finding the owner of the place not in yet, Dany and Jorah took the liberty of wandering around the pet store next door, at Dany's urging.

Taking a cue from the way Jorah had looked at her the previous day, Dany had gone for a more polished look, donning a matching white pencil skirt and top and a pair of black pumps. She looked very chic, she thought, but still, not overly buttoned-up, with the spaghetti straps of her shirt showing off the handiwork of her sunless tanner. From her ears dangled some beaded earrings she'd purchased from The Khalasar.

Jorah appeared to be sporting the same outfit he'd worn to the Tyrells' party.

They made a lap around the pet shop. The owner of the adorable but small and low-key business had greeted them when they'd entered, but left them to their own devices, saying she was going out back for a smoke break. Dany had wrinkled her nose at that. Who even smoked anymore? And besides that, it seemed like awfully poor customer service. True, Dany and Jorah were not planning on purchasing anything, but then, how could she have known that? Daenerys guessed, however, that it was better than a hovering salesperson, but then she turned one particular corner and immediately thought that she might need to call in the owner to come and wrap something up for her. (Humanely, of course, in a box with air holes.) Or rather, three somethings...

"Oh, Jorah!" she exclaimed, awe-inspired. "Dragons!"

"Dragons?" he repeated drolly. "Daenerys..."

"Oh, I know they're not really, do you think I'm an idiot?" She was still moving forward, and when she reached the cage, she placed both palms flat on the glass, as if needing to be as close to the creatures as possible. "It's a sign!"

"This sign says to please not touch the glass," was Jorah's only remark, as a broad, flat-tipped finger flicked a sign posted nearby.

Dany grinned, slowly removing her hands from the glass. She didn't want to make the job more difficult for whomever had to clean the glass by leaving fingerprint smears behind.

"They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"Maybe not the word I'd pick," admitted Jorah, peering at the creatures curiously. "Maybe...interesting-looking. They actually do seem intelligent."

"Well, of course they do: you do know that the dragon was the mascot of the Targaryen Corporation, don't you?" Dany boasted, still smiling at the creatures in their habitat. She watched as the largest one crawled to the front of the enclosure, moving in a leisurely sort of prowl, before placing one clawed, reptilian foot up on the glass.

"I believe I recall hearing that," responded Jorah, as Dany stood transfixed. He read another sign near the cage as Daenerys took in the creatures one by one, gaze moving from the biggest, a black and red one, to the other two in the cage: a cream and gold one, and one that was dark green and a sort of bronze-ish color.

Daenerys could tell they weren't Komodo Dragons. As Jorah read out what kind of species they were, she learned they didn't even have 'dragon' in their name. However, they did have...

"Fire...skank?" Jorah said, sounding befuddled. Dany snorted, startled out of contemplating the lizards, and turned to her companion with her face scrunched dubiously.

"What?" she laughed, Jorah squinting at the sign. He muttered something about needing his damn glasses, but in a few seconds amended his pronouncement about the lizards' species to, "Fire skinks."

"I love them," said Dany. True, she had a thing for reptiles, and the reptile habitats were all empty except for this one, but it was more than that. It was how alert the little skinks-- babies, said the sign-- seemed to be to her presence, and how truly beautiful and unique they looked to her. Their colors. And the way they seemed to be a natural unit with each other. "I'm going to come back and buy them after we finish next door."

Jorah appeared moderately bewildered. "That's a sudden decision," he remarked.

Daenerys shook her head. "Not really. I've always wanted lizards."

A slight smile of bemusement curved Jorah's lip. "This is a big day, Daenerys," he drawled, an ironic note in his voice. "You might find a space for your new business, and on top of that...you're getting lizards."

Dany grinned and patted him on a burly arm. "That can be your next duty, after helping me look into this space for rent. You can assist me in setting up my lizard habitat."

He didn't look overly enthused, but didn't complain. He did, however, check his watch and inform Dany that the appointed meeting time next door was now only a couple minutes away, and that they should probably head over there. Casting one last look at the little fire lizard babies in their case, Dany smiled and silently vowed to come back for them.

~*~

The space turned out to be just about perfect. Dany could totally see herself there. As she toured the store, which sold an assortment of curios and small home decor items, it was as though all the current business's fixtures and items were wiped out from her vision and she saw her own store inhabiting the space instead. All the beautiful merchandise and where everything would go.

Things were going swell. Daenerys was anxious to find a retail space she could claim for her own, and she was ecstatic to have found one so soon that would suit. It had a charming layout and was in a location that wasn't too chi-chi and elitist to be alienating, but wasn't in a slummy area, either.

Everything was in place for Dany and the current owner to talk price, when a disturbance broke out on the street. The wailing of sirens, the honking of horns, more and more startled voices of people gathering outside. She looked at the boutique owner and at Jorah, who looked back at her. Then they all made their way outside.

People milled about on the sidewalk, and the street was in the process of being blocked off. There was a fire truck parked out in front of the pet store.

"Oh, my God, it's terrible," Dany murmured, gripping onto Jorah's arm. His muscles seemed to tense under her hand and she looked at him with watering, horror-struck eyes. Even his normally tough, impassive expression had a look of nervous dread.

"Wait! Daenerys!" he suddenly piped up, pulling on her hand and urging her along with him as he craned his neck forward and moved along step by slow step, taking in information, evidently, from the chaos forming around them.

"No, we got all the pets out!" the pet store owning was yelling, running her hands frenetically through her hair, talking to one of the firefighters, and indeed, as Dany heard this, a more expansive look around confirmed that in the background of the scene, there were numerous animals in cages. Some were contributing to the din with their barks, whines, meows, chirps, and anxious pawing across cage bottoms, while others were stock-still, with expressions of shock and fear, Dany thought, as vivid as any person's.

"The only ones we couldn't get to," the owner went on, perking up Dany's ears, "were those funny little slimy skinks no one ever looked at. I'd already managed to remove the cuter, more popular pets, and then I was told not to go back in."

"Miri!" exclaimed the boutique owner from whom Dany was considering renting, rushing toward the pet shop owner, "What happened?"

Dany didn't think. She didn't feel a rising panic. She went from zero to panic in a nanosecond. She only knew that this could not be. She was an animal lover at heart, big time, and she would have been horrified to hear that any animals were trapped inside that burning building. However, this was even worse, because she had formed a personal connection with the animals in question. She was running before she even realized she was running.

She darted around a fireman guarding the entrance to the pet store; he wasn't looking for her. Coming around from behind him, she sprinted past, fleet of foot, slight and elusive.

From behind her, there were people yelling at her. Just inside the store, she hesitated, taking in their voices- the firefighters, yes, they were just doing their jobs, but they didn't understand, and Jorah, she thought, Jorah yelling- and the sight before her. The smoke was relatively thin where she stood, but she saw the billowing wall ahead of her.

The atmosphere was warm. An acrid smell hung in the air. Dany lowered herself down onto her hands and knees. The purse she was carrying was a white leather backpack-style one, slung over one shoulder. It slid down her arm as she got on the floor, and she unzipped it, hurriedly removing her shoes and stowing them inside. Even if they didn't just come off, anyway, they would only slow her down.

Her eyes began to sting and water as she moved forward. She could still see where she was going alright well, though. And she didn't see any flames. Dany figured the fire might have started in the backroom. After all, Miri had said she was going out back to smoke, which was the door accessible through that room. Maybe she hadn't even made it all the way outdoors, but had smoked in that backroom. And her being careless with her cigarette had started the fire.

Dany made it past the cash register and the first few displays at the front. From there, the smoke was thicker. It was a small store, with not many aisles to navigate, but she did find she had to begin using touch to get around, groping the wall and fixtures. At one point, the strap of her shirt got hooked on something, and it was the first time she felt anything like a stab of fear. It was just a nail, but she impulsively struggled against it, and the strap tore away.

She gave a groan of annoyance as her shirt flopped partially open while crawling. It had a built-in bra, so she was effectively hanging out at that point, but there was nothing to be done. Her eyes itched, the air was warm, and she felt a slight strain in her lungs, and she persisted. But then Daenerys went around a particular corner, and she saw flames for the first time.

It was mesmerizing for a half a second. Dany recalled the bonfire from Margaery Tyrell's party that she'd attended so recently. This fire was different, though; it wouldn't kindle the dreams it swallowed up. Daenerys was directly across from where the fire was ceasing to be contained by the propped-open swinging wood door to the backroom. There were large blackened splotches on the ceiling, at the edge by the door, as heat moved through it, and flames leaped at the door, beginning to devour it. Ashes floated in the air. Meanwhile, a knee-high wall of fang-like flames rose up from the floor, ten or fifteen feet from where the fire skinks' display was, like the teeth of a monster rising up from Hell.

This fire was sinister.

Dany bunched up her ruined shirt around her mouth and nose before standing and moving swiftly, head ducked down, toward the stand where the lizards were.

How easily could smoke get into the fire skinks' habitat? Were they still alright? Her heart skipped a beat.

Oh, God, what if she needed a key to get into their case? She slid her hands anxiously around the lid, looking for a way to open it. Luckily, it may be a space with quaint charm located on a block with enough traffic of both the vehicle and foot varieties, but it was still rinky dink as a pet store, and they hadn't taken precautions such as locking the pet habitats in any way. Dany lifted the lid, and slid it right off.

As she prepared to take the fire lizards out, she repressed the urge to reassure them in some way. She hadn't coughed yet once, but she didn't try to talk to the little creatures- wanting rather to be safe than sorry, it occurred to her to save her breath. They didn't squirm from her, although they moved slightly in her hand, assuring her of their vitality. She hurriedly deposited them one by one as safely as she could in the backpack, saying a silent prayer that they wouldn't be violently jostled again her shoes, nor find any other deathtrap within.

Pulling the bag in tight against her chest, Dany knelt down to the floor again, balanced herself on her elbows, and got moving back the way she'd come. Fire crackled behind her. The air seemed to grow even denser with smoke.

She was filled with adrenaline, and she wondered, somewhere off in the back of her head, why she wasn't more afraid. She was tense, but she wasn't afraid. She would get out of there. She knew it. It was her destiny to brave this fire, and rescue these lizards. These helpless little babies. It was her destiny to be empowered by this.

Dany continued to crawl forward as fast as she could, alternating elbows so she could keep clasping the bag to her chest with one hand. The three lizards were remarkably calm. She only felt them squirm a couple of times- once, when the biggest lizard, the red and black one, tried to stick his head up through the flap at the top of the bag. Dany simply nudged it back down.

Under layers and layers of smoke, Dany crawled, and it started to lessen as she neared the entrance. Though her eyes itched and burned, she could see the door in front of her through a thin, wispy haze. Dany was about to stand up, ten feet from it, when suddenly there was a figure at either side of her, hauling her to her feet and hustling her outside.

She stepped into the fresh air and didn't start coughing until then. Aside from the coughing fit, she felt remarkably hale and hearty. Maybe a little lightheaded. They kept asking if she was alright, the firefighters surrounding her, and in between asking her that, they rebuked her actions, saying she had no business running into that building, that she'd endangered not only her own life, but the lives of the firefighters who'd gone in after her. Dany all but tuned them out.

Instead of listening to them, she listened to the two neighboring business owners converse with another firefighter. The pet store owner was still standing with the owner of the boutique next door, and Daenerys eavesdropped on their conversation as she was being led by.

There was some damage done to the shop next door, the space Dany had been looking into renting. However, it was apparently quite minor. Still enough to drop the cost down, Dany thought eagerly. But easily enough repaired. Good location, good bargain.

Jorah looked inordinately upset, the poor dear. A quartet of men slouched near where he sat on the bumper of a firetruck. Despite life-saving being their business, they seemed to be casting Jorah Mormont some rather dark and resentful looks. One was cradling his jaw as though it hurt him, and the other was rubbing his elbow. Dany felt a tickle of amusement. It had probably taken several men to restrain Jorah.

One man who had escorted Dany out was calling to his comrades that she needed oxygen. She couldn't help thinking that he was wrong. The air in her lungs felt clearer and more substantive than it had in a long time. She didn't feel like she'd just been victimized; she felt powerful.

"Daenerys!" Jorah called for her, and she gave him a little wave. She then remembered that her shirt strap was torn, leaving part of the shirt dangling precariously low on a breast, and sure enough, she'd just become a flasher again. Dany blushed slightly, but couldn't bring herself to care too much. She yanked the fabric up again to reclaim her modesty and marched forward.

~*~

At the end of a long day, Jorah drove Dany home. She returned home at the end of this long day having found a space for her store, and with three new pets accompanying her in their cage in the backseat.

_To be continued..._


	6. Sansa 2

_ **Sansa** _

 

  
When Sansa was a child, she grew up on hopes, dreams, and fairy tales, and securely cradled in her family's love and protective embrace. Now that Sansa was a young adult, she lived by way of her inheritance from her late parents, a mix of student grants and loans, and a few hours a week working as an assistant doing clothing alterations.

  
For a while, she'd also picked up babysitting jobs, but discovered she'd apparently gotten her fill of caring for children when she'd had to look after her cousin, Robin, while staying with her Aunt Lysa last year.

  
It would have been the worst of times, anyway, seeing as she'd just lost half her immediate family, and her other siblings were so far away. Aunt Lysa had been far from a soothing presence to help her through her grief.

  
She couldn't go home, though. Not to her first home, that house on the North Oregon Coast where she'd spent the first sixteen years of her life, the home that her father had inherited from his own father. The house that was...god, it was hers now. But what was she going to do? Return to those cold, rainy woods to live alone in that big house? Maybe someday, but not now.

  
Bran was at boarding school, the one he'd asked to go to that had the modified athletics for students with physical disabilities. Rickon now lived with his legal guardians, the Umbers. Sansa and Jon, being as they were adults in the eyes of the law at the time of Eddard and Catelynn's passing, could have tried to obtain guardianship of the boys. (Well, Arya had also been over eighteen, but for someone in her rigorous program and with her wild streak to become the guardian of her younger siblings was truly unthinkable.) However, they likely wouldn't have been granted it. And neither had cared to try. Jon, a student across the country at N.Y.U., and Sansa, floundering in Los Angeles, knew themselves to be far from ideal candidates.

  
So, it had been a sabbatical from school and living with Aunt Lysa for a while. Being taken advantage of as a free and all too frequent babysitter as Lysa went on dates with a revolving door of suitors, and listening to her prattle on about how they were so desperate to buy her things and marry her. And then listening to her laugh and say that she'd never "settle" for any of them. She was still in love with Petyr, her and Catelynn's childhood friend and Ned's recent work colleague. Robin and Petyr were all she loved in the world, but Lysa had countless things that she mocked and despised, that she feared and which drove her mad. By the time Sansa moved out, she was convinced that her Aunt Lysa was not mentally well.

  
She hadn't been a kind woman, sniffing that Sansa was spoiled and when it turned out that the Starks didn't have quite as much money as everyone had thought, Lysa, who had come from the same wealthy family as Catelynn and who married a well-to-do man, sneered that Sansa's inheritance was still a "disgusting sum", one that would "make anybody blush." She always found fault with Sansa's clothing, accusing her of wanting to attract too much male attention, and made spiteful, petty comments about her niece's immediate family- the dearly departed members included.

  
Yes, Sansa had a charmed childhood, and now that she was a young woman, she often felt alone in the world. She used to be a dreamer, but now those dreams were uncertain. She had returned to school, that being about the only refuge that seemed open to her, and she was still enough of a romantic to be majoring in something completely impractical- art. She had no idea what came next, and was well aware she couldn't believe in fairy tales anymore.

  
But on a good day, she still had hope. Hope in something. Hope that life could get better. It might be as small and fragile as a baby bird, but perhaps one day, it would spread its wings and take flight.

  
Sansa bustled about the shop putting her away her work, her shift having just ended a couple minutes ago. She wished she could get more hours, but knew her boss already had to work around her school schedule, so Sansa figured she couldn't complain too much about short hours when she didn't even have open availability.

  
Marg would there any minute to take her on their trip to the beach. So she didn't keep her waiting, Sansa hurried to get her workspace all clean and tidy for the next person who used it. Still, she had to pause when she was moving paperwork around and came upon notes and a sketch for a wedding dress they were doing an alteration for. It was such a beautiful gown, as Sansa had been able to see in person when she helped with the fitting that morning.

  
She shook her head before placing the sketch to the side. She hadn't thought about having a relationship since the disaster that was her relationship with Joffrey. She wondered when she'd be ready again. There was still plenty of time for her, of course, but Sansa couldn't help but wonder with a hint of despair if she'd ever be able to trust anyone again. She wanted to, oh, she wanted to. She wouldn't tell anyone- she knew it was dumb- but sometimes she wished they were still in the days of damsels in distress and the knights who would rescue them.

  
Finishing clearing things away and seeing that Margaery hadn't parked outside yet, Sansa decided to grab her tote bag and go to the restroom to apply the sunscreen that was in her purse. A pale-skinned redhead like her especially couldn't take any chances.

  
When she came back out, she found Margaery loitering just inside the entrance.

  
"I'm sorry," Sansa apologized to her friend. "Have you been waiting long?" Even though she'd only been in the ladies room for about ten minutes.

  
Marg shook her head. "Nah, it's okay. Where's your boss, though? This place is dead."

  
"It kind of...has its ebbs and flows with customers," said Sansa, sitting on the edge of the table she worked on. "Mrs. Royce just ran around the corner to buy her lunch. She should be back any minute now."

  
"You guys do wonderful work here," Marg stated, examining some garments hanging on a cart in the middle of the room. "I've always been more than happy with the alternations you've done for me. I might bring in a couple other things shortly to have tailored." Margaery peered over her shoulder at Sansa. Her expression seemed suggestive of something, although Sansa couldn't guess what.

  
Presently, she didn't have to, because Marg walked toward her, her typical charming smile a little wobbly. "Well, since you know now, about Joff and me..." the brunette began slowly, a little guiltily, "...I should be forthright and just say it. He's asked me to go on a trip with him and I know I'll need to bring a few really nice things along, and they should be, well...altered to fit as perfectly as possible."

  
Sansa swallowed, trying to think fast and make up her mind what she thought about this revelation, and what she wanted to address about it first.

  
Mrs. Royce came in at that moment, though, carrying her lunch and asking Sansa if any calls or customers had come in while she was gone. Sansa answered in the negative, and in no time at all, found herself headed out the door with Margaery.

  
There they were, two young, carefree women, off to enjoy what was left of the day at the beach. Margaery's car was parked at the curb right outside the door of The Veil and More Alternations.

  
"A trip, Marg? You're going away with him?" Sansa's voice, to her own ears, sounded equal parts pleading and chastising.

  
"No...not him alone." To what must have been Sansa's uncomprehending expression, Margaery sighed and made a waving motion toward her car door, indicating that they should both get inside.

  
Once they were settled in their seats, and Sansa turned expectantly toward her friend, Marg went on.

  
"Okay, well, first of all, Sansa, I do understand your concerns, of course I do. Obviously. It's only to be expected after what happened between you. There was no excuse for Joffrey's behavior back then. He treated you terribly, and he'd be the first to admit it."

  
Sansa snorted as she buckled herself into her seat. "Yeah, he'd be the first to admit it, but is he ashamed that he acted terribly, or _proud_ of it?"

  
Marg stared at her, expression a blank. "Sansa..."

  
"Margaery," the redhead returned, attitude flush with irony. "Listen, we haven't really argued over this yet, and I think the reason that we're still okay is you're not President of the Joffrey Baratheon fan club when we talk. But if you're going to start trying to make it out like he's gone from devil to saint, I think we're going to have a problem. I really, really do." Both heat and sadness had entered a voice that was slowly rising. Sansa restlessly threw herself back against her seat as she waited for Margaery's response, praying she wouldn't have a reason to have a big argument with her best friend.

  
She glanced sideways over at the brunette, who didn't look angry, at least.

  
Her bubbly friend's persona seemed less sparkling, though. She looked a little tired behind the eyes as she leaned over her steering wheel, hesitating before starting the car.

  
"I _know_ he's not perfect. You're not telling me anything."

  
Sansa shifted in her seat, uncomfortable and wondering, not for the first time, just what was going on in Margaery’s head.

  
After first breaking up with Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa had often poured her heart out to Marg about just what had gone wrong in the relationship. All the not-so-rosy things she'd kept secret while still with Joffrey, because she'd been hoping things would- that _he_ would- get better, and make all the negative stuff irrelevant.

  
But after the relationship came to its final, no-coming-back-from-this end, Margaery had heard all the ugly and devastating details. Including an account of the drama-filled breakup itself, which didn't even come close to being the worst thing that happened that night, but _had_ compounded her trauma nicely.

  
Sansa stared out the windshield into space. She didn't want to let them, but her thoughts began to wander, back to memories that she tried so hard to keep locked away.

  
~*~

  
_"No, Joff, no, God, leave me the hell alone!" Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the raindrops landing on her face as she struggled with Joffrey in the driveway. "I need to get home, let me get home!" She was full-on shrieking at that point._

  
_She collapsed to the concrete as Joff pulled on her arm, trying to drag her. Sansa resisted, continuing to yell loudly and urgently for him to stop, that she needed to go home. She looked up at his face, twisted in anger, and wondered how she ever could have found him handsome._

  
_Tonight she had told him she was done with him, but he clearly wasn't done with her. What did he want with her? How could he be this upset about her breaking up with him? There was no way he still wanted her; he treated her like she was worthless, he was always telling her how stupid she was and putting her down._

  
_So why wasn't he just letting the "dumb bitch" leave?_

  
_"Joffrey!" a sharp voice rang out from the direction of the house. Of course, he would stop for his mother. For the first time in forever, Sansa was thankful to hear the voice of Cersei Lannister. With her tear-glazed eyes, she looked up at the porch at her recent ex's mother._

  
_Cersei wore a robe over her black lamé dress and had a cocktail in one hand. Her expression was sour and tired, with the kind of regal detachment it always had._

  
_It said that she was over her son's games, though she'd enabled them all his life, and would almost definitely continue to._

  
_"Joffrey," she drawled, annoyed. "Joffrey, what **are** you doing? You're disgracing yourself. Let the Stark girl go." She then turned to where Sansa lay sprawled in the drive, getting rained on from a rare Southern California downpour, and she sneered._

  
_Sansa knew that she'd done nothing wrong, while these people **had** , and so she shouldn't be the embarrassed one. It shouldn't matter that she was a wet, disheveled mess, knees skinned from being dragged across the concrete driveway. Or that she kept reflexively tugging the hem of her dress down, though it was of a modest length, and neither it nor her posture was about to reveal that she'd left her underwear back in Joff's room..._

  
_After he'd attempted to rape her._

  
_Surely, it said nothing good about herself or Cersei, Sansa thought, that the Lannister woman was able to make Sansa feel so small, inferior, and unattractive, when Sansa shouldn't be worrying about any of those things right now._

  
'What the hell is wrong with you?' _she asked herself. '_ What does it matter if you seem pathetic right now? Aren't you allowed to? You've just been brutalized by your ex-boyfriend, this horrible woman's horrible son! And you're especially wrong on focusing on how you don't look cool and beautiful when you **should** be thinking about your family!'

  
_"Sansa," said Cersei in a bored kind of voice. "Why are you on the ground? Get up. Get up, now. It's okay." Her tone laced with mockery._

  
_Sansa shakily climbed to her feet under mother and son's contemptuous gazes. She turned to Joffrey and narrowed her eyes._

  
_"I should have known something was wrong with you when you wouldn't even go to your own father's funeral," she seethed, before turning to Cersei. Tears filled the redhead's eyes anew as she started to cry while yelling at the older woman._

  
_"They weren't there, were they? Why didn't you tell me they weren't there? That they didn't make it there? Did you care? Did you even wonder where they were? Your husband's own best friend missed the funeral?" Her emotions taking over her, she was finding it hard to breathe. She looked back and forth between Joffrey's rage-contorted features and Cersei's mild shock and prevailing indifference._

  
_"Or, wait, did you even go?" Sansa burst out with, unplanned, at Cersei, starting to walk backwards down the driveway to her car. "Hey, maybe you couldn't tell me they weren't there, because you weren't there, either!" she shouted sarcastically. Her hand reached into the pocket of her dress. How she had loved that dress, when she picked it out and discovered it had pockets. Now it seemed like such a stupid thing to be happy about. She found her keys and squeezed them tight._

  
_"Sansa," Cersei called back with deliberate, insulting calmness. "You're becoming hysterical, little dove, you're in no condition to go anywhere. You really ought to try to take a few deep breaths first." Her lips twitched into a subtle, hateful smile. "There's no need to be so disrespectful toward me. That's over the line."_

  
_"Nothing is with you people!" Sansa fired back. She didn't even want to turn her back to the vicious Lannisters, but she turned around quickly and ran the remaining short distance to her car. She unlocked the door, and with her free hand, found her phone in her other pocket._

  
_She got inside her car, slamming and locking the door. She sat, panting and trembling, holding her phone out in front of her. It wasn't until then that she noticed she was bleeding, warm, fat droplets of blood spreading, rolling with the beads of rainwater down her fingers onto her phone. She must have cut herself on her keys._

  
_Sansa would have looked for the precise spot of the wound on her hand but the lit screen on her cell phone caught her attention. She had a new message. A text. From Jon._

  
**_Don't bother going 2 the house. Meet me @ hospital. Love you, Jon._ **

  
_She felt herself go all over cold. The blood on her skin might as well have been paint on a marble statue, for how lifeless reading that text made her feel._

  
_Jon had originally asked her to come home; they were going all going to meet there and go together. If Jon was saying now to go straight to the hospital- well, that didn't sound good at all. Why would he do that, unless time was of the essence?_

  
_And signing it with love... That wasn't like Jon. That wouldn't be like any of her siblings in an average message, but it would have to be an especially serious message to come from Jon. He wasn't an emotionally expressive sort of person, and besides, it wasn't that she a bad relationship with him, just that there wasn't much of one at all._

  
_Sansa stared blankly at the phone screen, tracing a finger over it, as if to ascertain the menacing message's reality, and leaving a bloody print behind. She was so stunned by the implications that it took a moment for a wave of panic to hit her. And then it was pulling her under, full force. The phone slipped out of her numb hands, and she didn't care where it landed. She fumbled her seat belt on, and the key into the ignition._

  
_She pulled swiftly out of the driveway and looked back to see that the taillights of one of Joffrey's cars, his cherry red Jaguar, were lit. Sansa breathed. She needed to gain some calm._

  
_"Get your head together, kid." That's what her father would say. When he used to help the boys and Arya practice sports, if he could score on them, he liked to tease them, coming up behind them and messing up their hair while laughing. "Keep your head in the game, kid," he'd scold gently. "Or I'll ring it like a bell."_

  
_He had his own version of that which he said to Sansa. Sansa didn't play sports, never had. She wasn't a game player. And so, Ned had come up with a special encouragement for Sansa, and Sansa alone. She used to be annoyed by it. She thought it sounded like she was ditzy or something- "Get your head together."_

  
_But over the years, it just became Sansa and her father's thing. And she was such a princess that he somehow knew never to add the "ring your head like a bell" part. Instead, he would bend and gently kiss her forehead. That was the part of their little ritual that Sansa looked forward to most. It never failed to make her feel at least a little warm and fuzzy, no matter how ticked she was about being nagged at to do her homework or remember her chores._

  
_Except, well...it hadn't made much of a difference when her dad tried to warn her away from Joffrey. Then, the sweet father-daughter moment had been undercut by Sansa's indignity and sheer certainty that she could not have erred. In that moment, it hadn't felt one bit like fatherly kindness. It hadn't even seemed like lovable, outmoded condescension. He'd gone for the forehead kiss...and Sansa had jerked away._

  
_All this and more Sansa thought as she navigated the streets on her way to the freeway, making sure all the while she was going exactly the speed limit. Her father would want her to get her head together, and so Sansa didn't become hysterical. She thought about her mother, how they'd sewn her high school graduation dress together. She thought about Robb. She thought about how he'd brought his girlfriend to Easter dinner a few months back and looked happier than she'd ever seen him. Sansa, Robb, and Talisa had volunteered to fill hundreds of plastic eggs with candy for the Mayor's Easter egg hunt, and while they'd been working, Robb had teased Talisa with a gleam in his eye about the possibility of their future kids._

  
_Head injuries...spine injuries...blood loss... It all sounded so incomprehensible, like a T.V. show and not like her family's real life. Jon calling her about the accident and revealing their conditions had effectively saved her from Joffrey's assault, because Jon, bless him, just wouldn't stop calling, until even Cersei heard the phone down the hall and demanded it be answered. Saved from one personal tragedy by another... And yet, even though the it had sounded very bad, she hadn't allowed herself to register that it could be the type of bad people didn't recover from._

  
_The spinal injury brought to mind Bran, and if anyone else in her family ended up being permanently handicapped, that would be hard enough. Sansa hated to think how they'd have to modify their lives, but Bran was a survivor, Bran was thriving, and he was only a child..._

  
_Sansa drove with her heart lodged in her throat, and a sense of doom dogging her. Maybe she had over reacted to Jon's text. She still needed to reach her family as soon as possible, though._

  
_But her head was together. It was totally together. She was focused totally on her goal, which was getting to her parents and brother safely. What good could she be to anyone otherwise? She would get to them, and behave like a capable adult as she supported them until they got better. Because they had to get better._

  
_Her hands were steady on the wheel._

  
_But there was something important going on around her that she'd failed to notice. Joffrey was still following her as she turned onto the freeway._

  
~*~

  
Margaery brought her back to the present.

  
"Battle lines are not drawn here, Sansa. I won't let them be." She reached over with one hand and squeezed Sansa's arm. "Trust me. I hope you'll always be my friend, because I'm always going to be yours. I'll always have loyalty to you."

  
~*~

  
Sansa spread out her beach blanket and sat down carefully in her pink and white printed sundress. She kicked off her shoes and extended her legs past the edge of the blanket, digging her toes deep into warm sand. Propping her sketchpad open on her lap, she stared ahead at the water, waiting for inspiration to strike.

  
Margaery had already crashed somebody's volleyball game.

  
Of course she'd just had to get into a conversation with a group of people who'd been parking at the same time they were, hit it off with them, and ask if she could join in their game. Well, she'd asked on Sansa's behalf, as well, but since sports were never really Sansa's thing, and playing with a bunch of strangers sounded even less appealing, Sansa had politely declined.

  
Besides, part of the reason Sansa had come to the beach was to draw, and while she could multi task and enjoy Margaery's company at the same time if Marg wanted to sit on the blanket with her, she was fine if her friend wanted to go off and do something else first. Sansa was fine with privacy and tranquility.

  
She didn't have that fully, but the beach had definitely been more crowded than it was today. Only a few other groups dotted the landscape as far as she could see, and Sansa relished the view. Besides, being in nature seemed to help with her anxiety.

  
Her father had been an outdoorsman in the little bit of spare time that he'd had. He used to like to take the boys and Arya hiking. Sansa had gone, too, a few times. She'd been forced to go on a longer camping trip once, when her whole family went together. She'd never really "gotten" the great outdoors in that context. Roughing it? The woods? Not for her. (Although lately, she found herself lying awake some nights, wishing to be surrounded by those cliffs and tree again.)

  
But Sansa had always loved the beach. There were plenty of beaches back in Oregon, too, but the beaches in Southern California were different. Sansa had loved California beaches from the moment she'd moved to Los Angeles. There was something about them that said this was the real carefree, fun-in-the-sun all day destination. This was warmth and beautiful people, beautiful bodies, and paradise.

  
The sky was a perfect, clear blue, and the weather was temperate. Sansa sniffed at the salt in the air and swore she could smell the sunshine, too. Shielding her eyes with one hand, she peered around looking at everything happily, and then withdrew her drawing pencils from her bag. Her sketchpad resting on her lap, she gazed out to a point much further down the beach, at the water’s edge. Three young kids were building a sand castle with that beautiful, endless ocean stretched out behind them as a backdrop.

  
Sansa wasn't sure how long she sat there for. It could have been a half hour, but she was happily losing track of time. Then, out of nowhere, girl, a stranger, just flopped down on her blanket.

  
She looked to be a few years older than Sansa, olive-skinned, with wavy black hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing a pair of shorts and a bikini top. And sunglasses, so Sansa couldn't see her eyes.

  
She had...well, Sansa supposed she'd describe it as...as a...street wise edge to her voice when she started talking.

  
"Hi. Sorry. You don't mind, do you? My friends are playing volleyball with your friend. I _suck_ at volleyball. And, like, look at my nails." She held out a hand and let Sansa see a pristine French manicure on nails that looked to be a good half-inch long. "You think I'm going to ruin this?"

  
She paused, seeming to really be expecting an answer, so Sansa formulated as quick and as honest a response as she could.

  
"It would be a shame to ruin all the time that went into that."

  
The stranger grinned. "I love the spa, but you don't know what I've put my hands through. Sometimes, it's just nice to keep the nice things nice, you know what I mean?"

  
Not sure that she did, Sansa only gave a slight nod and a half smile.

  
The girl pushed her sunglasses up on top of her head. She jerked her chin at Sansa and smiled back. "I'm Shae, by the way."

  
Sansa put her sketchpad down beside her. "I'm Sansa."

  
"That's a pretty name," said the girl called Shae, but then she looked almost quizzical. "Huh. Have I met a girl called Sansa before? It seems sort of familiar..."

  
"Well, it is a company that makes, like, data storage. Flash drives and things..." Sansa ventured, but by then, Shae's attention had floated to the sketchpad.

  
"Whatcha drawin'?" she asked, seemingly deciding a split second later that she'd rather find out for herself and reaching for it. "Oh. It's this beach." She sounded somewhat disappointed, and Sansa was slightly irked.

  
"I just started. I think it's coming along alright." Sansa held out her hand to reclaim the sketchpad, but Shae was holding fast to it, and flipping backward to look at the previous pictures.

  
"Oh, wow..." Shae's voice was kind of flatly astounded. "Princesses? Castles? Furry little woodland creatures?"

  
Sansa frowned, feeling judged. She hoped she wasn't blushing. Would she ever stop giving people the satisfaction of caring what they thought? Would she ever grow out of that?

  
Then again, would she ever grow out of being infatuated with fairy tales?

  
"I'm an art student," Sansa explained, thrusting her hand forward obviously and succeeding in getting the sketchpad back. "I think I might become an illustrator one day, so I practice drawing things that might be in children's story books."

  
Shae was smiling at her enigmatically. "Well, they're really good."

  
"Thank you." Sansa moved restlessly on the blanket, tucking her legs underneath herself as she eyed her companion with uncertainty. A silence fell between them, with only the sounds of the water against the shore, and Margaery playing volleyball with Shae's friends some fifty feet away to interrupt it. Shae showed every inclination of staying put on the blanket. At last, Sansa held out the sketchpad so Shae could see it again, flipping through to find a specific drawing.

  
"They're not all princesses and castles... Look, I drew a scene from Peter and the Wolf..."

  
Shae leaned in and made a noise of admiration. "I always wanted to be able to draw. You have a real gift. Look at that wolf! He looks so lifelike! I'd hate to meet him in the woods!"

  
Sansa laughed, and this time easily gave a more heartfelt thank you.

  
"I didn't want to make him look too much like a cartoon," she said, tracing a finger along the wolf's spine, and down over his snout and jaws. "I mean, not that I want to make him look too scary for the hypothetical kids that would be looking at it, either." She smiled slightly, rueful, reflective. "I guess maybe I need to find my inner wolf, because I've always preferred the princesses."

  
"There's nothing wrong with that," responded Shae, almost comfortingly, much to Sansa's surprise. "Sometimes, you just need to concentrate on the nice things, you know? What's wrong with loving the beautiful dresses..." Shae took the sketchpad back, but she grabbed for it more gently than before. "The grand castles?" she went on, smiling over the pad at Sansa. "The fairy tale endings? The handsome princes..."

  
"Well, if you're too in love with the idea of finding the handsome prince, you'll probably end up with a frog instead, but other than that..." Sansa joked, and the girls chuckled together, having seemingly found some common ground.

  
"I'd take a frog over some of the guys I've dated, though," Shae stated. "Not quite a prince, but then, frogs are pretty harmless in the end, aren't they?"

  
Sansa mulled that over for a moment. "I suppose they are," Sansa admitted, added, giggling, "They can still give you warts, though."

  
Shae had turned her gaze toward the ocean, perhaps having tired of the joke already. Well, it _was_ sort of cliche, Sansa figured, but found herself wanting to recapture Shae's attention, if the other girl was going to continue sitting on Sansa's beach blanket. It made the redhead feel awkward, otherwise. Catelynn Stark had always talked to her daughter about being a good hostess, and so Sansa wanted to be a good hostess, even of her beach blanket.

  
She let the conversation steer toward something more serious, almost accidentally. Shae seemed like a girl with a tougher edge, and they were always the jaded kind, weren't they, and still Sansa wasn't fully sure she wanted to talk about Joff. So hopefully, she wouldn't get pressed for details.

  
"Still...frogs might not be the cutest or the cuddliest," said Sansa, drawing her sandy feet back onto the blanket and slipping them inside her sandals, "but c'mon...a frog is not a monster."

  
Shae turned back around and indeed looked like she was about to say something, but then started staring at a couple of guys instead. They were heading the girls' way.

  
They were young men, in their twenties. One wore a baseball cap and saggy cargo shorts, while the other had a buzz cut. As they got closer, Sansa got uncomfortable. There was something about their faces... They were the type of men who could make you feel dirty just by their dirty expressions.

  
She was going to turn toward Shae and mention in disgust how there were a couple of douchey-looking guys coming their way to hit on them, and found the other girl staring straight ahead, looking stone-cold sober and as if she were preparing to facedown an enemy.

  
The two men marched up to the two women, and immediately the one with the buzz cut started giggling. He was a twitchy-looking sort of guy, while his companion's smile spread like an oil slick over his face when he laid eyes on Shae.

  
"Well, I can't believe I'm actually seeing you in person! How crazy is this?" His enthusiastic expression conferred with his friend's equally wound-up one. "You _are_ her, aren't you? _The_ Shae?" The hatted greasy smile didn't give her time to answer. "I know you are; I'd know that face anywhere. And maybe a couple other parts, too." He actually winked, and his friend giggled all the harder.

  
"I'm who you think I am," admitted Shae, surprising Sansa by putting on a smile that Sansa would call "professionally courteous". Like a nail technician who'd had a long day, but had to grin and bear it, being solicitously chipper to the next customer she was sorry to see walk through the door.

  
Sansa didn't get her nails done much anymore, but she could always tell when her manicurist was upset. They weren't the same kinds of signs her mother had exhibited when she was upset but obliged to wear a mask of hospitality. She had a way of seeming warm and motherly to anyone, when she chose to. Sansa was sure she hadn't caught every time her mother was faking.

  
Did the guys ever seem to psyched to get Shae's confirmation of her identity. They exchanged excited glances before the gaze of the guy with the hat fell upon Sansa.

  
"And how about your friend here? She in your, uh...your line of work?"

  
The guy with the buzz cut snorted, and Shae practically shouted out, "No!"

  
Sansa turned to her in curiosity, and Shae was looking back at her, seemingly embarrassed.

  
"No," Shae reiterated, this time calmer. "She's not. Not at all." She shook her head and looked down at her legs, brushing away a few particles of sand that were stuck to them, before returning her gaze to the two men.

  
Well, almost. She tapped her sunglasses back down to cover her eyes.

  
"I know enough not to ask what I can do for you..."

  
The two guys began nudging each other with their elbows and sniggering.

  
"I'll give you an autograph," Shae offered, cheerful, but to Sansa, it sounded a bit like she was struggling to stay civil.

  
"Oh, my fucking god, are you for real?" laughed the hatted one with the oily smile jubilantly, slapping his knees. "Will you autograph _any part_ of me I ask you to?" He asked, dipping his voice low and leaning down toward Shae, who somehow managed not to cringe backward.

  
She instead made an effort toward laughing along. "I will not. Sorry. Today's not that lucky for you."

  
"Oh." The guy with the baseball cap seemed genuinely a little unpleasantly surprised. "Well..." His moment of humor was over, and he appeared to be thinking, while his friend, meanwhile, continued to chuckle behind him, still anxious and fidgety.

  
"I'll take a selfie," oozed out the hatted man, from his smarmy smile, as though he were making some kind of concession.

  
Shae just barely smiled back as slick-smile-baseball-cap took his phone out of his pocket. She climbed to her feet and moved off the blanket to go stand beside him. He enthusiastically motioned for his buddy to come and join them. The buddy's facial muscles and hands twitched as the three crowded into a picture.

  
A guy stood on either side of Shae. The nervous one giggled the whole time. The other looped his arm around Shae's shoulders, his fingers dangling down, and just dusting the cleavage exposed by her bikini top as his other hand snapped the photo.

  
No sooner had the photo been taken then Shae backed away, eyes narrowed slightly.

  
"You were a credit to the industry," the greasy-smiled guy simpered. "They lost a true talent when you retired." He tipped his baseball cap to Shae, while his friend continued to chuckle nervously.

  
"Thank you," Shae said yet again. What little sincerity it had possessed to begin with drained steadily out of her voice the more she was forced to interact with these two. "But there's new talent coming up all the time."

  
"I'll tell you what's coming up!" said the talkative one with the cap, looking back at his friend with a knowing smile. As the other man’s giggle turned higher pitched, slick smile adjusted himself through his blessedly baggy cargo pants.

  
Sansa caught Shae's subtle sneer of revulsion before she herself reflexively sighed and turned away due to similar feelings of revulsion.

  
"Standing here talking to you, miss," the talky one continued, out of some inexplicable need to clarify while futilely adding something of a polite address.

  
"How flattering," said Shae in a flat tone, sitting back down on the blanket with Sansa. "And I didn't even have to work for it." Her lips formed a curve that seemed part smile, part grimace.

  
The two men laughed together and the one who'd been doing all the talking enthusiastically asked, "How awesome would that have been, though? Hey! I'll give you a chance, if you're interested..."

  
"Seriously guys, don't push it," Shae deadpanned. Her eyes narrowed into little slits of loathing. She sat up straight on the blanket, then leaned forward toward them, leaning on her hands, like a fearsome creature ready to spring at them. "I never wanted to get a reputation for being rude to fans, even creepy fans. And now that I'm retired, I didn't want to tarnish my legacy. But now I find that I don't care as much about that as I care about the ability to squash super creepy fans that are in a class all their own." Shae looked like she just about had murder in her eyes, and the guys backed off.

  
Holding up their hands in front of themselves, they did look intimidated, in spite of the smirks on their faces, but after the assurances of, "Okay, okay, we'll go" as they backed away across the beach, came a yell of, "You're a legend! Nobody's as big a champ as you when it comes to taking a cock!"

  
Sansa looked down, embarrassed. Either they were only talking about what they hoped Shae would be like in bed, or Shae must be an actress who had filmed some _really_ explicit sex scenes. She figured maybe the young woman beside her was one of those B-level actresses who'd been in a few trashy movies to pay her dues.

  
"So you have...fans?" She left it hanging there, hoping Shae would pick up the thread and explain, but all the black-haired girl did was nod slowly and respond, "Yeah.” Sansa peered off in the distance, trying to come up with a way of prying that wouldn't sound like prying, and happened to spot Margaery, grinning and bounding their way.

  
Shae removed the protective visor that was her sunglasses again and reiterated, "Yeah," quite blandly, and said no more.

  
Margaery reached them, then, and came to an abrupt stop before the blanket, her brown pigtails continuing to bounce for several seconds after she came to a standstill. "Sansa! Hey! You having fun?"

  
Sansa smiled courteously. "I met Shae, here. She's been keeping me company."

  
Margaery smiled widely. "It's great to meet you, Shae! What’s up?”

  
"I was just taking up valuable real estate on your friend's beach blanket," responded Shae, "but I was just thinking that I could really use a drink, and my friends have a cooler full of pina coladas." She held out her hand to Sansa. "Can I see your sketchpad again?"

  
Out of impulse, Sansa did, though she had a fleeting worry that Shae couldn't be trusted with it. Why not? What was she going to do, run off with it? Sansa's scribbling weren't worth anything. It was just that she knew she had to be cautious about handing over precious things.

  
All the black-haired girl did, though, was rip a corner off a blank piece of paper and jot down her contact information on it.

  
"In case you ever wanna hang, Sansa," she said. Sansa took the sketch pad in one hand, and the scrap paper in the other, utterly surprised. How long had it been since she made a new friend? And so easily?

  
Shae walked away, and Marg grabbed her vacated spot on the blanket. "Well, what do you want to do now?"

  
Sansa shook her head, indecisive. Did they want to play in the waves? Build a sand castle like the children Sansa had been watching? Lie back and soak in the suns rays?

  
"Would you mind if we just left and went for something to eat?" Sansa asked her friend. "Just a little snack. I'm kinda hungry, but I don't think I want anything from the snack stands around here."

  
Marg shrugged, agreeable, and bounced back up to her feet. "Sure. Ooo, I remember now this cute little place I wanted to show you! We actually passed it on the way! C'mon!"

  
Without waiting for Sansa to gather up her beach blanket, Marg simply headed off, and Sansa hurriedly bunched the blanket up under one arm, and tossed her sketchpad and pencils into the tote she slung over the other. Clutching Shae's note in her hand, she hustled up the beach at a half-run, catching up with Margaery.

  
Margaery grinned at her as they reached the gravel of the parking lot. She gave a flip of one pigtail of brown curls and said with more than a trace of mischief in her voice, "That was Tyrion Lannister's girlfriend, you know."

  
Sansa stopped in her tracks for a moment, taken aback by this news. Was there no escaping the sphere of the Lannisters' influence? If they weren't in a place in person, there always seemed to be someone there serving as a Lannister proxy. Even being around Margaery now was like being around someone who had at least one foot in camp Lannister.

  
Sansa had no proof that Shae's presence there at the beach was anything but a coincidence, but still, it disquieted her. She hadn't made up her mind before, about whether or not she wanted to form a friendship with Shae. Oh, she was planning on a cursory Facebook friending or something, just so as not to be rude. But now she was even more conflicted.

  
"Her?" she gaped stupidly, as Marg gave a small smile.

  
"Yes, they make quite the couple." The brunette had stopped in the middle of the parking lot along with Sansa, but now started moving toward the Prius again, and Sansa followed suit.

  
"His family disapproves of her," Margaery went on, waggling her eyebrows. "You've noticed how needlessly picky they are, haven't you?" She pulled out her key ring and unlocked her car door. "Too scandalous for a family like the Lannisters," she disclosed, leaning around her side of the vehicle, arm stretched out languidly against the hood. "Can you imagine that?"

  
Marg smirked before dipping back around out of view again. Sansa waited for her door to be unlocked, then they got into the royal blue Prius.

  
"Is it because she's an actress?" Sansa asked. "I mean...she may not be A-list, but she has fans. She got recognized here at the beach today."

  
Margaery broke out into gales of laughter, in between which she exclaimed, "I noticed that!" Then, as the laughter died down into soft giggles, she looked at Sansa and said, with her eyebrows quirking conspiratorily as was not uncommon with her. "Sansa. Yes, she's an actress. Or was. She was a _porn_ actress."

  
"Oh." That was all Sansa said. All she was capable of saying, in her shock. Realization damned with a crimson blush on her face that she could see in the passenger side mirror. It faded too quick to be sunburn, but the feeling of being foolish remained.

  
_Of course, I should have known! That explains a lot..._

  
She crunched the scrap of paper in her fingers and frowned. She _really_ didn't know how to proceed now. Well, she didn't want to be friends with an ex porn star, did she? Was that judgy of her? But that on top of the Lannister thing... She already had one person in her life who was uncomfortably close to that family, she didn't need another. And Sansa was sure she had nothing really in common with Shae, anyway...

  
The crinkled paper found the floor of Margaery's car as they started to drive away, putting their day at the beach behind them. Sansa listened as Marg started talking about the trip she was going on with Joffrey's family.

  
"We're leaving next Friday. It's just a weekend on Catalina Island, really not a big deal," she revealed, though her 'not a big deal' seemed a little too emphatically nonchalant. And earlier, almost as soon as she saw Sansa, she had mentioned needing really nice clothes that fit perfectly, hadn't she?

  
"The same weekend I got once, then," said Sansa, thinking, as she looked out the window. The remark almost sounded like a dig. She almost meant it as one, as surprised as she was that Marg was assuming the old Sansa's life more fully than the new Sansa had guessed. "Kind of a no brainer, I guess, they do that every so often. His grandfather has a place there, and sails them over on his boat."

  
"Oh, my gosh!" Margaery stage whispered, turning briefly to Sansa with eyes dramatically widened. "Can you imagine if _Tyrion_ comes along for the weekend, and he brings _Shae_?" She let out a cry of amusement.

  
But Sansa shook her head. "He won't come, Margaery. He's not really one to hang around his family more than he has to."

  
_To be continued..._


End file.
